


I Never Passed A Cry for Help

by realpoutydadsurvives (collettephinz)



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Character Insert, Character Redemption, Denial of Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/No Comfort, Letty's gun kink still in fashion, M/M, Mentions of past abusive relationships, Mentions of past child abuse, Mind Control, Pining, canon typical levels of violence and gore, clothes on dubcon, emotionally constipated Chris redfield, evil evil wesker, it's essentially damnation Leon but blond, obstinate and sarcastic Leon S Kennedy, protective Chris redfield, switching POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2020-07-27 08:01:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 52,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20042605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collettephinz/pseuds/realpoutydadsurvives
Summary: Chris Redfield is knee deep in a new breed of Plaga with a new partner and a new disgust for himself and the way the world works. He can't think beyond the fight, can't trust himself with connections and friends and affection, can't let himself be anything but a weapon and Chris forces himself to be happy with it.It would've been easy to ignore his own human needs when he'd been thrown into hell again and faced with his eons-old enemy Albert Wesker. It was near impossible to ignore now that Leon S. Kennedy is here and somehow smiling like he's twenty-one again despite everything.Discontinued.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> LOOK GUYS I'M REALLY FUCKING NERVOUS FOR THIS ONE PLEASE TELL ME ANY AND ALL CONCERNS CAUSE I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO THIS ONE IT'S SO MUCH FUCKING ACTION LIKE JESUS DOES IT GET REPETITIVE OR BORING I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO THIS ONE OH GOD CHRIS WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS _JUST FEEL SOMETHING YOU ASSHOLE_
> 
> and this first chap is like 12k right off the bat and I'm just--
> 
> ugh
> 
> I hope y'all like it regardless I'm sorry if it's bad I'm trying this game is *hard* to write XD

To say the situation had gone from bad to worse was a fucking understatement. Their target, the slimy smuggler Ricardo Irving, sitting pretty and surveying the evil he’d put on the world. Their men were dying in droves, a new breed of B.O.W. made of Lovecraftian nightmares taking the stand, and the endless waves of villagers-gone-rabid were alarmingly familiar in a way that made Chris Redfield feel sick to his stomach.

These things— the villagers were losing it in grand style, and they were showing a level of autonomy that wasn’t T-Virus, nor were the mutations Veronica Virus. There was only one other thing that Chris could think of that would allow these people to brandish weapons and show organized pursuit of enemies, capable of taking orders and holding public executions. Chris had never seen the early stages of that particular virus, but he knew the man who had. A part of Chris felt like it was necessary to reach out to said man— to Leon S. Kennedy— and get an in-depth report on what the early stages of infection looked like, but Chris knew well enough already. He’d watched Leon’s slow decent into uncontrolled madness. It had taken over twelve hours. And yet this— these villagers in Kijuju Autonomous Zone. They were turned in what seemed like a matter of minutes. And the creature they had just been fought—

God, what had that thing even been? Leeches or something worse, black eels from the depths of the ocean. Possibly T-Abyss related? The movement and abilities and make up hadn’t been at all similar to the behemoth mounds of flesh he’d come across on the Queens Zenobia and Semiramis, but what other comparison could he draw? Eels or leeches, squirming and writhing in the darkness of the depths of the ocean. These things took over the bodies of Alpha Team and used them for— sustenance? Energy? Chris didn’t understand how it worked, didn’t understand what he’d seen. What he did know was that Captain DeChant had been good man and an even better soldier and he hadn’t deserved to die like that. As a Captain himself, even though he hadn’t let himself have a team in ages, Chris’s worst nightmare was to outlive the men on his team.

“We need to contact HQ.”

Sheva repeated herself, almost like she thought Chris hadn’t heard her before, back in the underground with that, that _thing._ Chris had heard her, he was just hesitant to reach out to BSAA HQ at all. He’d long ago learned that the fat cats weren’t to be relied on. Their mission handler, a nameless man that Chris knew had never seen genuine combat outside of a drone screen, wasn’t exactly the most sympathetic type from what Chris had gathered so far. He knew they weren’t going to get the help Sheva was hoping for. “Alright,” he said anyways, knowing she wanted a verbal confirmation. The woman was strong, very strong, and Chris was happy she was at his side. She knew the area, knew the game, and she knew the risks. She was more than useful— she was his partner.

Light broke through the industrial elevator they were riding up from the bowels of the underground, and the lift stopped at the hangar level. Chris and Sheva both broke from the small confines and scanned the area, peaking around the blindspots the various parked HUMVEEs created for their inconvenience. With Alpha team dead below their feet, there was no telling what had broken through in what should have been a secure rendezvous point. 

“Clear,” Sheva whispered as she checked the west end.

“Clear,” Chris replied tersely when the east was surveyed. They met eyes across the expanse of the hangar and gave each other sharp nods before getting back to the center, to Captain DeChant’s ride, where his ToughBook was kept. He peered through the glass and saw the container. “I’ve got it,” he told Sheva as he opened the door and grabbed the computer.

“What was that thing?” Sheva asked, sights still up, covering Chris as he got ready to send the necessary data to HQ. He knew she was talking about the leech creature, but Chris was still a little more preoccupied with the villagers themselves. The change they’d all undertaken had been near immediate and nothing Chris knew about B.O.W.s allowed for the level of sentience the infected villagers had coupled with the infection rate itself. Still. Sheva had asked a question and he’d do his best.

“A B.O.W. that scumbag Irving left behind to set us up,” he told his partner, certain of that, at the very least. He opened the laptop and logged in. “Considering what it did to Alpha team, I think we’re lucky to still be breathing.”

“If only we could have gotten there sooner.”

A bleeding heart— Chris felt the same, but logic was his master now. If all of them kept being so eager to die for one another, there’d be no one left to fight. One man couldn’t handle the war on biohazards alone. “If we had, we’d probably be dead too,” he pointed out, seeing no reason to be gentle about the truth. Sheva did’t answer. She understood.

Chris finished off with the data and stood, pressing a finger to the comms piece in his ear. Static jarringly filled his sense for a moment and he spoke through it. “Chris to HQ, do you copy?”

_“This is HQ,”_ came an almost robotic voice, the mission handler as asshole-ish as always. _“Excellent work out there. We’ll analyze the data immediately.”_

“This whole town’s gone to hell,” Chris told the man, figuring he’d give Sheva what she wanted, even if it meant they’d be faced with an ugly reality. And HQ needed to know the situation, needed to know Chris’s opinion on what was happening. He swallowed hard and readied himself for a name. “The people here— they’re acting like those Ganado detailed in the Kennedy report.”

Behind him, he heard Sheva turn sharply, the name meaning something to her too. The Kennedy report wasn’t public, but quite a few people in the BSAA had read the thing under the namesake. Chris was hoping dropping the rare name would help this handler understand just how shit everything was here, especially since even Sheva understood the gravity of the name itself. 

But god, the name. He wanted, _needed_, he needed someone to reach out to Leon and ask him about this, because Chris was terrified he were facing the Plaga again and he didn’t feel ready. But god forbid and save anyone who actually did reach out to Leon, because there was no way in hell Chris wanted Leon to be anywhere near this disaster again. 

“And aside from that,” Chris continued, pushing past the anxiety of not being enough, not being able to handle this without Leon at his side. “There’s something new here, something we’ve never encountered before.”

“Our transportation has been taken out too,” Sheva chimed in, sounding eager for HQ to extend some sort of aid. “Requesting a mission update.”

There was static. Then, _“The mission stands. Capturing Irving is your top priority. We believe he may have fled to the mines on the other side of the train station.”_

Chris wasn’t surprised the mission still stood, but— “Wait, we’re the only two left!” he barked. He’d have expected some sort of backup or _something._ “You want us to go in there alone?!”

_“Delta Team has been dispatched and are on their way along with a secondary party operative due that will be able to give some insight into the situation. They will assist you in locating and apprehending Irving.”_

Sheva looked to Chris, her eyes pleading with him to say something and argue. “But wait, we can’t—”

_“I repeat,” _the cold, detached voice interrupted. _“Your mission still stands.”_ Chris stared into the other woman and felt sorry for her. It had to be a cold dip in the deep end to get her first taste of how careless the BSAA was with its operatives. “We can’t afford to let him get away. Proceed to the mines beyond the station. Over and out.”

The static died and Chris’s chest was heavy. 

“This is insane!” Sheva cried out.

Chris slammed the HUMVEE door shut, expression grim. “You ever get the feeling you’re expendable?” Sheva looked to him in something like dawning horror, and he wished she hadn’t had to face this reality in a moment like this. The Plaga was bad enough— a new B.O.W. was a worst case scenario. Realizing she was just another grunt to the organization she’d give her life for? Definitely a bad day. “They said they’re sending an outlying operative that may be able to help. We can only hope that whoever that is is worth their snuff.”

“And if they’re not?” Sheva asked. “What are we even looking at? You said this was like the Kennedy report, but from what I read, it took three days for victims to become completely infected. Do you know something?”

Chris’s throat closed up for a second as blue eyes gone red flashed through his memories. He breathed past it. “The Kennedy report did detail that it took three days to reach complete infection and loss of control to the Plaga, but there was also an instance of infection taking just over twelve hours to reach a critical point.” _Agent Kennedy_— safety in anonymity— had nearly lost himself to that fight with Krauser. While the Plaga had taken days for the Ganado, Agent Kennedy had nearly succumbed in less than a night. “It’s entirely possible that the strain that person was infected with was the one we’re dealing with now, as the victim then was… tenacious. And very stubborn. Abnormally. They had pre-existing conditions in their life that made them extremely resilient. They could have lasted the twelve hours against this strain out of their outlying factors.”

“I’ve read the report,” Sheva said cautiously. “And I don’t remember reading a lot of that.”

Chris looked away, mouth a grim line. “I have some unofficial experience with the Plaga and the Kennedy report itself is confidential. The people involved in rescuing the United States President’s daughter were kept anonymous for several reasons.”

Sheva’s bright eyes bored into him. “And was one of those anonymous rescuers you?”

Chris met her curious gaze. “Officially? No. Unofficially? It’s a need to know basis.”

“Judging by what’s happening here, I think I need to know.”

Chris absolutely agreed, but there was still a worry in the back of his mind of a certain agent’s name being thrown around. Leon S. Kennedy was special ops and not a public acting figure. Judging by the BSAA’s treatment of him before, the fewer BSAA operatives that knew of Leon, the better. Chris’s hands itched for a cigarette. “I will tell you what I know as the information becomes pertinent to the situation,” Chris told her. “But the second anonymous operative will remain anonymous.”

“It’s Kennedy, isn’t it?” Sheva asked. “That’s their name.”

“That’s all I’m willing to give on them.”Sheva frowned. “What happened to them?”

A lot. Too much. He thought of how Claire had been the last to see Leon and how she’d struggled for the words to describe the vacant state Leon had been in. “They’re alive,” Chris replied cryptically. “That’s all I’m willing to disclose.”

Sheva’s eyes narrowed, but he could tell she knew better than to push. The BSAA itself had just proven it didn’t give two shits about its own men. Sheva was smart, Chris knew she’d be able to connect the dots. Chris was leaving out the details on Leon for the man’s safety. It wasn’t personal, it was proactive. Chris didn’t trust anyone with Leon’s name anymore. Fool him once, right? 

“For now, our only choice is the complete the mission and hope they’ll evac us once we’re finished,” Chris said calmly. “Capturing Irving down is the top priority, for more than just taking him down. He’s our ticket to safety.”

“Right,” Sheva agreed, her movements a little more stiff. Maybe Chris’s unwillingness to disclose information had put a wedge of distrust between them, but Chris couldn’t care less. Leon S. Kennedy was more important. “We can’t let Irving get away. We have to get to the station.”

Thank god she could prioritize. He nodded his agreement, not seeing much more reason to talk. They had their orders— their tentative death sentence— only thing they could do now was be brave and face it head on. Chris gave one last glance into the HUMVEE and was glad he did when he spotted a weapon case tucked beneath the bench in the back. Chris bent down and grabbed it by the case handle, drawing it out and finding an H&K MP5, a familiar and welcome sight. As far as he knew, Sheva only had her handgun while Chris had Matilda and a shotgun. Chris stepped aside and nodded to the automatic. “You grab it.”

The relieved smile she gave him said a lot. Sheva grabbed the H&K and secured it across her back after doing a weapon check, clearing the gun for use. “Thanks,” she said, her tone warm and sincere. Chris only nodded again and broke away, heading for the exit. He pushed open the metal door that was the only way out and grimaced as he was treated with a sight of the sea stretching out in front of him. After the island in Spain and the Queens, Chris was pretty much done with open water. To his right were stacks and stacks of shipping containers. They were in the middle of a shipping port with no idea of what they would be facing next. The only thing Chris was certain of was that they were dealing with the Plaga. Beyond that, he was in the dark.

“Gotta say,” Sheva said from behind him. “It’s relieving to be working with someone who has as much experience as you do.”

If only the relief was mutual. Chris grimaced and began to navigate the shipping containers, unhappy with the maze they made, stacked two or even three high, impossible to look over and cheat his way through. They didn’t get far before shouts in Swahili broke through his concentration. At least their enemy didn’t know the meaning of a sneak attack. Chris brought Matilda up, rounded a corner, and slammed two bullets into the head of a man brandishing an axe. Parasitical tendrils bursts from the brain and flailed about before the man dropped dead. 

“It’s the Plaga,” Chris said to himself. “Jesus, Leon.” It was dangerous to say the name aloud, especially with Sheva right behind him, but the name was a comfort and Chris was as fucked up as they came these days. “Aim for the heads,” he told Sheva. “Sometimes they come back up even after you’ve destroyed the brain. Just keep firing at the head until they stay down.”

“Got it,” Sheva said. “Eyes up, Redfield.”

The phrase had Chris flinching even as he followed the order, ducking aside to let Sheva send her own bullets flying into a Ganado that came around the corner. The man dropped dead under the barrage, joining his friend on the ground. Chris visibly shook himself. “Let’s move.”

They pushed through the waves of Ganado together, Chris covering Sheva between reloads and Sheva doing the same. Situation aside, Chris was a delicate kind of grateful for being here at all. Sheva Alomar was proving to be a truly dependable and worthy partner, something Chris had thought he’d lost for good after Jill’s death three years ago. Chris was scared to rely on her, though, scared to actually allow himself to connect with this woman. He lost everyone that mattered to him eventually in his life. His parents, Forest Speyer, his once trustworthy companions, _Leon S. Kennedy,_ even his sister who as far too busy with TerraSave to be able to give him her time— and then Jill Valentine, tackling Wesker down a cliff side, saving his life and ending her own in a display of selfless loyalty Chris didn’t deserve. How could Chris comfortably attach himself to Sheva Alomar when everyone he’d ever cherished in his life had inevitably been torn away from him, one way or another?

Chris was yanked from his thoughts by a sudden yelp, familiar and chilling. He was thrown to the ground by a heavy weight before he could even turn and see if his fears were confirmed. Chris hit the dirt hard and struggled as paws dug into his back and dog slobber smattered down the back of his neck. He cried out and threw his fist back, trying to connect with a leg or a body or a head, but hit nothing. Teeth were suddenly at his neck, too close to his jugular, about to sink in and tear through the artery, about to gouge into his flesh and end—

Sheva cried out like a warrior and there was the sound of something solid connecting with flesh before the weight was gone. Chris quickly clambered to his feet, stumbling back and recovering, bringing up Matilda to fire three shots into the dog Sheva had kicked off him. “Thanks for the help,” he breathed once the thing was dead. Sheva only had time to give him a sharp smile before the sound of claws on the ground tore them back to the fight, more of the dogs sprinting into them. Chris cursed under his breath and unslung the shotgun from his back, spraying shrapnel into the dogs, closing his ears to the sounds of pain the infected made. It was easy to demonize another human being in his mind, if only to make peace with the killing Chris was forced to do— it was hard to see a dog as anything but a victim. 

Sheva was smart and stayed behind Chris, crying out, “Nice shot!” when Chris was able to take down two dogs with a single slug. Finding ammo wasn’t too difficult in this place thanks to the militia-status of their adversaries, but wasting ammo still left a pit in Chris’s gut. He led Sheva deeper, finding the containers navigable thanks to explosive traps set up by the Ganado. The things set up to kill them only acted as a trail of breadcrumbs for them to follow through the maze.

Chris put one last bullet into a dog that trembled and died just before they broke through into a clearing. “That gate,” he said, looking beyond to a metal, sliding gate at the other end. “C’mon.” He and Sheva jogged through, both of them tense. It seemed like their enemy operated in waves, hoping to overwhelm the BSAA operatives with sheer numbers alone. When the wave was cleared out, Chris and Sheva were given a breather. But they both knew the next wave would only be worse.

They reached the gate and pushed it open together, moving into a blocked off area that seemed like it had once been an effort to quarantine. Their only option was to cross an iron bridge to their left. The bridge itself had crumbled away on their end, an expanse of cracked concrete dropping down into the waters below. Chris leaped across the gap first, landed cleanly, and then groaned as he heard a horn blare at the other side of the bridge. He looked up, seeing the delivery truck barreling towards him, being driven by an infected maniac. 

“Look out!” Sheva shouted behind him. She hadn’t crossed yet, one less thing for Chris to worry about. He lifted Matilda, let the gun reassure his panicked thoughts, and aimed at one of the red barrels full of gasoline. Just as the truck passed the barrel, Chris opened fire. The barrel exploded and the truck was thrown onto its side, its wild advancement abruptly ended. It skidded past Chris on its side, useless. Chris strode past it, not even sparing it a second glance as he fired at the Ganado that were sprinting down the bridge after the truck, weapons and torches in the air. He made clean shots, busting open their heads and exposing the parasite cleanly. In a matter of moments, ten of them were dead and the bridge was cleared.

“Oh my god,” Sheva gushed as he ran up behind him, her smile reminiscent of childlike glee. “Nice shooting!”

Chris let himself feel a moment of pride, satisfaction brimming inside of him to know Sheva was impressed. “You said it first— I’ve got the experience, don’t I?”

“I know of experienced soldiers that still can’t shoot for shit,” Sheva shot back as they crossed the last of the bridge and headed into what could have been a slum area, the buildings and homes falling apart before their eyes. “Experience doesn’t always add up to skill.” She winked playfully at him and said, “Looks like I’ve got some catching up to do.”

It was _hard_ to tell himself he couldn’t afford to be attached this woman. Chris swallowed and looked ahead, not allowing any more of the banter that would effectively ruin his resolve to stay at arm’s length. He had a bad habit of caring too much.

“That way,” Sheva said, jerking her head to the right to where a set of stairs led down into what were probably the underground sewers. Chris fought back a grimace, telling himself he really needed to just accept that running around in sewage was just part of the job. He almost wanted to suggest Sheva leading the way. It was her jurisdiction and her people, her town. She’d know where to go. But then the part of Chris that insisted he was the captain and he was the first one to face down danger reminded him of exactly what happened if he didn’t lead. As point, he was the first person to take the aim of the enemy. 

“Thanks,” he said, taking her directions and heading into the darkness, somewhat relieved to be out of the sun again. The sewer itself was tight corners and closed in, water up just above their ankles and splashing, ridding them of any possibility of maintaining stealth. They came to a metal door that Chris easily kicked in without a thought, the sewage system becoming industrial and square, maintenance tunnels that ran beneath the city overhead like veins beneath the skin. Overhead lights made the wet, concrete walls shimmer like scales and the humidity got under Chris’s clothes. There was another door at the other end of a room that seemed like the finality of this underground mess. Chris and Sheva both checked the other was ready with a nod before Chris threw open the door and burst into the next area, sights up.

They were in a wash, dirty and stagnant, the sun overhead— bodies collapsed in the water, laying like they’d just been tossed in haphazardly. “My god,” Sheva said in quiet horror, the woman staring at the bodies that had been so carelessly disposed of. Chris grimaced and looked down the other end of the wash, squinting in the sunlight. He saw a grating, but no way out on this side. He turned and headed the other direction, Matilda still in the air, his eyes on—

“Oh what the—“ 

The bodies began to writhe as something squirmed beneath the flesh, like a butterfly turning over in its cocoon. “Something’s coming,” Chris said, his voice low, eyes on the corpses. “Watch out.” There was the sound of flesh and bone being torn before the corpses heaved before something burst from the bodies and spun into the air, flaps of meat and muscle, twisted creatures that looked almost like demented stingrays with split wings darting high into the air, flapping powerful, mesozoic wings to keep their elongated, grub-like bodies in the air, the tips of their tails hooked like a pincer with a terrifying leatherback-mouth in the center. 

The things thrashed wildly in the air, jerky movements making it hard to get a good shot. Chris fired, but missing more shots made him fear for his ammo. There were three of them in the air, screeching like vampires, and one swooped forward, going lower, wings blocking out the sun as the pincer swung forward for Chris’s throat.

“Get down!”

Chris dropped to his knees as Sheva leaped high and vaulted herself off the angled walls of the wash, slicing at the body of the creature with her knife as she flew overhead. The creature shrieked and writhed and stalled in its movements, giving Chris time to slam three bullets into the face-less head, the shots tearing through vital skeletal structures and crippling the thing. As Sheva landed back in the water, Chris whipped out the shotgun again, jogged forward and close, right beneath the last two, and fired straight into the air, into the mouths, closing his mouth to the splatter of diseased flesh and laying shells into them until the things dropped from the air, lifeless and broken.

“Why didn’t you warn me of these?” Sheva demanded, her voice high pitched and strained. “Seems pretty need to know, if you ask me!”

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Chris said stiffly, panting, staring at the corpses of this new breed of freak and feeling distantly ill. They were twisted and veiny and raw, disgusting creatures that were wet with the blood of the carcasses they were bred inside. Chris’s stomach turned over and he stepped away from the monsters that smelled of rotten meat and swallowed down bile. “Jesus,” he said to himself, looking away from the awful sight. He was reminded distantly of the overgrown locusts that had plagued Salazar’s castle. “We have to keep moving.”

“Following this still is the fastest way,” Sheva assured him, casting her gaze at the high walls surrounding them. They could climb out, but Chris wasn’t keen to be in the midst of the raging infected again. Sheva shot the lock off a door that was at the other end of the wash, and Chris drove back into the darkness again. He moved through the tunnels, deciding he preferred the smell of sewage over the rotting bodies. A ladder stretched into the town above before Chris’s eyes had time to adjust to the darkness again. He glanced back to make sure Sheva was behind him— thought of blond hair and blue eyes and Jill Valentine— and then climbed up first, confident she’d follow. 

Up top, they came into what seemed to be a trading bazaar, stands with old goods still untouched despite the affliction that had befallen Kijuju. There was a dock that stretched out into the waters beyond, a way out if Chris ever thought they’d need to make an exit. “There’s someone here,” Sheva whispered, which Chris agreed to. He could hear footsteps, scuttled feet, whispers and hisses, but he couldn’t see anything. He looked around and confirmed his fears— whatever they were heading into, it was out of their hands. 

“Let’s go,” he ordered quietly, moving between stalls and coming upon high walls of rubble, difficult to get around but not impassable thanks to the slumped rooftop beside the shotty blockade. Chris looked back to Sheva and saw the woman was on the same page. She nodded to Chris and took a few readying steps back as Chris went down on his knees and threaded his hands together. Sheva took a running start and when her foot landed in Chris’s palms, he threw her up. The woman arched gracefully in the air and landed atop the roof with ease, turning and laying flat across the tiles to offer him a hand up. 

“Oh geez,” She grunted as she lifted Chris’s weight, struggling only a little. “All muscle, isn’t it?” He managed to crack a grin at her teasing, but wasn’t comfortable for anything more. Sheva rolled onto her butt and peered down into the streets below. Far away, at what could be a hotel or a hospital, indistinguishable in its ruin, were warm lights that were the wrong shade of gold to be the sun. Fires, they had to be fires. Sheva winced and Chris knew that, again, they were on the same page. “That’s an ambush,” she said.

“Yep,” Chris affirmed grimly. “How’re you on ammo?”

“Ten bullets. The MP5 is empty. You?”

Fuck. “Thirteen in Matilda, four in the shotgun.” He took in a shaky breath. “Need some of what I’ve got?”

Predictably, she shook her head. Then, impossibly, Sheva smiled. “Matilda? That’s an odd name.”

Chris’s throat clenched. “I didn’t name it.”

“Oh?” She cocked her head to the side, undeniably curious as they both took a breather and delayed the inevitable. No one went into an ambush like that with the ammo they had and made it out. “I’d ask if it was a story for another time, but judging by the circumstances, who knows if that’ll happen at all.”

“An old friend,” Chris said, staring at death awaiting them. It was odd to face his mortal doom in the daylight. “He— he’s gone now.”

Sheva’s expression became solemn. She stared ahead with Chris. “Well, maybe you’ll see him again soon.”

She thought Leon was dead and that Chris was going to see him in whatever afterlife awaited them. Chris would rather face death a thousand times before he let Leon suffer death ever again. Once was more than enough for Leon to survive. 

“Any last words?” Sheva asked him, her tone grim.

“I refuse to die here,” Chris said.

Sheva nodded. “I like that.” Then she slid down the roof, landing in the dirt, holding her gun up that had ten bullets left. Chris followed her down, admiring her despite the adrenaline that was pumping fear into his chest. 

They darted to a line of houses and shacks, backs to the walls, peering down the street that led to the glow. Chris’s gut sunk as he saw that they’d been right. Twenty, thirty, forty, it didn’t matter, there were more Ganado than they had bullets, and Chris didn’t see any way to sneak past. The infected villagers screamed fury into the air as a molotov cocktail was thrown and flames splashed about just a few feet away. Chris met eyes with Sheva and the somber understanding of partners about to face their end together passed between them— too many regrets and not enough time. Chris brought up Matilda, cocked the faithful weapon, thought of Leon one last time, and—

_“You two okay?”_

Static filled his ear, followed by a voice, a voice Chris knew—

“Kirk,” Chris breathed, relief bleeding though him. “God, am I glad to see you.”

The thrum of a helicopter overhead answered Chris’s admission. Above, a Black Hawk swung into their line of sight, and Sheva let out a whoop of excitement, the thrill of knowing she was going to live another day boiling over. 

_“HQ sent me in to provide air support. It’s gonna get hot down there, so watch out!”_

“Light ‘em up, Mathison!” Sheva crowed as the copter moved up and laid down heavy fire. “Looks like you aren’t dying here after all, Captain!”

“It’s Chris,” Chris told her with a grin he couldn’t tamper down before darting forward and heading into the thick of it. “Didn’t think HQ actually cared.”

The helicopter began a tight circle of the area, the gunner taking out the infected with prejudice. Only once the mob that had been storming them had been torn apart by a barrage of artillery fire did Chris and Sheva drop out from their cover, heading into the thick with their weapons up. 

The confusion of the fight with dust flying and Chris only taking a shot if he knew he had a clean decimation of the skull had his nerves on edge, the constant drone of bullets and screaming and dying sending his brain into a broken part of himself that operated only as a soldier. He stopped seeing the infected as victims and nothing more than targets in a shooting range— get behind cover or lose points, make the perfect shot or risk failure, prove he was capable lest he be grounded. And most importantly, above all else, never _ever_ let anything get past him to the woman that was at his six. Sheva Alomar was his partner and he wasn’t going to lose a partner ever again.

“Nice work!” Sheva cried out as Chris blew open the cranium of another target, the Plaga writhing in the crater left behind. 

_“Let’s go!”_

Kirk gave the order into Chris’s ear, and Chris followed it, moving up, deeper into the line of shacks and homes and businesses. Kirk cleared the way, showcasing the same skills he’d proved back on the Queen Zenobia, helping Chris and Jill take down that behemoth of a creature, taller than skyscrapers and uglier than sin. Chris glanced to the skies, saw the copter dip and weave and lay down more cover fire. Chris was reminded of another pilot as well— a young man in Spain, Mike from Boston. Chris had saved his life. Kirk had saved Chris’s. Chris hadn’t saved—

_“Get down, get down!”_

Sheva grabbed Chris by the back of the shirt and yanked him down even as he was dropping to the dirt on his own. The ground shook beneath them, an explosion rattling Chris’s teeth in his skull. He came right back up when he heard a battle cry and slammed Matilda’s last bullet between the eyes of an infected that came sprinting for them both with an axe waving in the air. Individual taps of skin like the huge petals of a flower of paradise writhed in the ruined neck before the body dropped.

“Here!”

Sheva’s shout had Chris turning. He stared at the box of bullets she was holding out to him, the box itself red but covered in dust and chipped at the edges, bearing a local brand that Chris couldn’t hope to pronounce. His first thought was: “You need it more than I do.”

Sheva, alarmingly, grinned. “You’ve the experience, yeah? Make those shots.”

There wasn’t time to argue. Chris took the bullets and slammed a fresh clip into Matilda, felt the girl slide into place again, ready to carry him through this just like every other hell before. Chris went up and into the thick again, his shots remaining steady with Sheva right behind.

_“Stay frosty down there,”_ Kirk said from above, a trail of light leaving the copter, an entire house being blown into pieces mere seconds later. Chris flinched from the wave of heat as Kirk said, _“You’re almost at the station.”_

“That way,” Sheva directed. Chris took a sharp left to a huge gate that sectioned off this area from the deeper slums, the entire town of Kijuju giving off that familiar war zone vibe. They pressed deeper, the homes shoved closer together, everything becoming a maze of tight corners and hiding places for enemies. Chris ducked through a claustrophobic press of walls and came out into a street that led to another fucking DMZ-worthy gate and another huge building beyond. There was a moment of peace as the thrum of the helicopter came back into hearing range, but the next clip of static and Kirk’s panic slammed adrenaline right back into Chris. He stopped in his tracks and pushed his finger into the device in his ear, trading a look of trepidation with Sheva as Kirk finally became understandable.

_“What the fuck are those?! Mathison to HQ! I’m under attack by flying B.O.W.s!”_

Chris looked up into the balmy, hazy sky and saw the helicopter careen past, out of control as the winged freaks from the corpses before slammed themselves into the craft, covering the cockpit windows with their meaty bodies, tearing at metal and machinery and blinding Kirk. As Chris watched helplessly from the ground, he realized in an instance that he couldn’t save the man and felt the worst part of himself insist he needed to move on before the man was even dead.

_“I’m losing engine power! Oh shit— I’m out of control!”_

Chris took a step back, shut his eyes, and made himself listen to the fear that always rang in the voices of dying men.

_“I’m going down! Mayday! Mayday!”_

“Kirk, what’s going on?!” Sheva cried out into the receiver. “Kirk! _Kirk!_”

There was dead silence for a long moment. Then, another voice— the cold, unfeeling voice of their BSAA handler. 

_“This is HQ. The helicopter has been downed. All nearby units proceed to the crash site. Repeat, all nearby units proceed to the crash site.”_

Chris took in a deep breath and started moving again, his heart clenching with loss that he refused to let himself feel. These men and women put their lives on the line for the mission— Chris had to accept that and not feel a damn thing unless he wanted to sabotage the mission itself and fail to complete every soldier’s dying wish.

For now, to overpower the pain, Chris yanked out his shotgun and laid into the coming waves of infected, turning that ache into rage and making it fucking useful. He slammed into the ranks, not bothering for keeping a safe distance, expending the last of the shotgun ammo in the bloody faces of these bastards. Sheva was shouting something in the background, but Chris couldn’t hear her, not right now, not when the hate was lacing through him, poisonous and mind-melting like a heatstroke. Hands grabbed at his clothes and skin with how close he was to the monsters, but he barely felt it, and when he ran out of bullets, he switched to his fists, driving his knuckles into flesh and bone and reveling in the crack the skeleton made as it shattered to his rage.

Nothing stood in his way like this— not the countless Ganados, not the flying freaks from hell, not even the fucker with the sack sewn into his head and the chainsaw in his grip. The anger made Chris’s hands shake and someone kept feeding— Sheva, Sheva kept feeding him ammo, his partner and the only person he could trust right now, the person he needed to keep alive. Sheva fed him ammo and Chris stayed out of range of those metal teeth, thirsty for blood, thirsty for the shrieks of the dying infected. 

Kirk Mathison had been a good man. He hadn’t deserved to die like that— along and afraid, fighting desperately to survive with monsters sabotaging every single last effort he could make. Kirk Mathison had saved countless lives and he’d deserved for someone to save his. 

“He could still be alive.”

One of the few things that got through the rage, and one of the most bullshit suggestions he’d ever heard. Sheva was a dreamer. Kirk Mathison was dead. Even if he survived the crash, the things that brought him down would tear him apart. He’d be falling into a combat zone as the enemy. Kirk Mathison was dead and the only thing that made Chris feel better was the sensation of his fists breaking through bone. 

There was smoke high in the sky, a pillar higher than all the other fires they’d seen, black because something or someone was still burning. Sheva was silent as they sprinted through the ruined streets, past carnage and squalor and death of his own making. A distant part of him that was beginning to cope with the loss said that Sheva shouldn’t have seen that side of him, that no one should have, that he’d land himself in a psych eval with no way to fake his way into normalcy because he didn’t care enough to hide this side of him at all. The anger and hate and loathing, the disgust for the viruses and monsters that killed his people. Maybe, impossibly, Sheva could understand. The BSAA was Chris’s family. He couldn’t keep losing family. Maybe she felt the same way.

“We’re almost there,” Chris said, his first words in ages and his voice raw. With the rage finally dying, Chris found out his hands hurt like they were this close to broken and that his skin felt tight and unfamiliar, a sensation of disassociation. Sheva didn’t respond behind him, quieted by what she’d seen. Maybe she didn’t understand as well as Chris could have hoped. Or maybe she was so used to blood-blind soldiers that she knew not to push anything. Part of him wanted to apologize regardless, but the other part of him knew that he’d done what he’d had to. 

The closer they got to the smoke, the worse the smell got. Oil and flesh, destruction and decay, and not a single gunshot to be heard, no one defending their self or their position, a final damning strike for the argument that Kirk was dead and gone. Chris brought Matilda back into his grip and found comfort in her reassuring weight, thought of the man that was Chris’s reason for doing all of this, and hoped Kirk had found peace in death in knowing that he’d died defending the world from monsters. 

There was a gate and a high, stone wall in front of them, only the huge column of smoke beyond visible, black like a bruise against the wide, dust-polluted sky. “Over there,” Sheva said, her two simple words saying a lot. She understood. She knew what had happened. She knew how to direct someone lost in their rage. Good. She was a good soldier and an even better partner. 

Chris nodded, let out a gruff sound of gratitude even though he had seen the smoke as well, and stormed forward to the sliding gate to try and push it open. Sheva joined him immediately, and the two of them pushed it along its wheels, exposing them to the crash site. Sheva ran forward and Chris followed, but—

The skeleton of the helicopter was swathed in flames, burning beyond a fire from the crash. The fire had been fed with something to make it burn the way it was, hot and encompassing every inch of the craft. Chris stared into the fire itself and tried to find that hate inside of himself again, tried to be useful, but he could only feel the loss.

“Oh my god.”

Sheva’s quiet horror had Chris reluctantly looking to his right, where Kirk Mathison was strewn out across a tower of rubber tires, his body black and charred, the flight suit and helmet melted to his skin, absolutely dead, and had been for a while. Kirk was stretched out on his back, spine bent at an unnaturally sharp angle inwards, and his mouth was open in an endless scream. Chris felt sick just looking at it, but looking away would be an injustice to what this man had done for them. “Kirk,” he breathed, taking a step towards the body, wanting to pull it down from where it was exposed to the elements, almost purposeful like someone had put him on display. 

There was a sudden influx of sound and shadows fell over Kirk’s body, crows circling high above like vultures, flailing and dropping through the air erratically. And unlike everything else Chris had come across that turned him into a killer, the crows themselves only made Chris _afraid._ He stepped away from the body, stepped closer to Sheva, tried to track the crows but found himself overwhelmed by their black bodies. And beneath the cawing, beneath the mad flapping of wings, there was something else. 

A low hum, something like a motor or a drone, far away but coming closer, and from all directions. Sheva looked to him in a panic and Chris felt the same. He spun about on his heels and tried to make sense of the underlying noise, but the crows were furious and he couldn’t figure out the source, the sound echoing off the city walls and bouncing around them, indefinable and impossible to locate. Chris’s heart pounded in his ears and Sheva reloaded her MP5. The sound got closer and closer, louder and louder, but there was too much of it and from all around, Chris didn’t know what was coming or from where, they were trapped, _this was a trap_, they were—

Motorbikes shot into the sky from the other side of the wall, a metal chain whipping through the air, arching for them, arching for Sheva—

“Look out!” Chris shouted even as he dove and body slammed Sheva into the ground with him, the chain cracking and missing Sheva but getting Chris by the ankle and before he could even think, he was dragged face first across the dirt, unable to get free. His skin was cut and burned by the ground beneath and he couldn’t kick off the chain, writhing and thrashing about uselessly, trying to see past the dirt in his face, the pain of the friction, the fear—

There was a gunshot and Chris was skidding and slowly down, rolling across the ground and coming up to his knees as fast as he could. Hands clamped around his arms and Sheva pulled him to his feet, concern blatant across her expression. She’d made the shot— _she’d made the shot._ “Nice work,” Chris gasped, needing her to know he was grateful even as more motors burst into the area— a car lot, this was a car lot, they were caged in by metal yet left with no place to hide— and they were surrounded by the bikes, chains rattling as they were spun overhead, the infected laughing as they corralled Sheva and Chris like cattle. Chris couldn’t get his sights on one, couldn’t get a shot, everything was too close and his aim wasn’t this good with the flayed skin on his arms from being dragged, and these things were too fucking fast. 

Two bikes reared up, came at them with one wheel in the air, and as Sheva and Chris both laid shots into the fuckers, the bullets only ricocheted off the bodies of the motorbikes. Seconds before disaster, Chris dove to the side with his arm around Sheva’s waist, getting her out of the way with him. They hit the ground hard, shoulders aching, bodies bruised. Sheva clambered to her feet and Chris was right behind her, the two of them going back to back as the bikes circled them again. A chain was twisted into the air and Chris didn’t know if he’d be able to figure out who was the target before it was too late—

A shot rang out, high caliber and decimating, smacking into the head of the forefront bike driver, the machine careening out of control as its operator smacked into the ground, dead. Chris whirled around, eyes up at the rooftops, and saw a man dressed in BDUs with a long-range rifle. There were two more shots and then two more were dead, another driver speeding across the body of its fallen infected and getting flung into the air. The thing spun and went high and came down on the propeller of the helicopter, blood spurting from its mouth as it was impaled. Chris stared at the body and felt a little like Kirk had gotten his revenge from the grave.

The tables had turned. Chris grinned as soldiers flooded the area in a defensive position. The drivers were momentarily distracted, a new range of targets coming in to split their attention. Chris took an easy shot, sending an infected underneath its own front wheel. The final driver revved its engine and sped towards Sheva with murderous intent. Chris didn’t turn, he had faith in her shot, knew she would be—

There was a click of a gun coming up jammed. Chris’s eyes went wide in panic and he was turning as quickly as he could, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to make the shot, not in time, Sheva was—

There was the quick rain of automatic fire and Chris turned around in time to see the infected collapse to the ground and the bike swivel and crashed into a junkyard car. Beyond was the man who had saved Sheva’s life, a tall man with dark skin and a closely shaved head. 

That was the last of them.

Soldiers jogged forward to Sheva and Chris’s position, and relief flooded Chris like nothing else. Barked orders were given, brisk information and a status report. Chris and Sheva nodded along, knowing they had to move fast. The soldiers escorted them quickly through the streets to the designated safe house. once out of the sun and the heat, Chris stood tall, letting himself take a breather as the soldiers guarded around the small house and things finally felt like they were going the way of the good guys.

“Man, am I glad to see you guys,” Chris said as he moved into the main room of the safe house, a table in the center with maps and files. The man who had saved Sheva was waiting for him. Chris and the man traded a brisk salute as the man introduced himself. 

“Delta Team, Captain Stone,” he said, and wasn’t that music to Chris’s ears.

“Chris Redfield,” Chris replied, reaching out to shake. The man’s grip was firm and confident and he didn’t seemed bothered that Chris left out his rank. 

Captain Stone turned from Chris to Sheva and smiled, saying her first name and saying it so familiarly. Chris wondered if they knew each other, and his question was answered when Sheva smiled brightly. “Thanks, Josh,” she gushed. “I owe you one.”

“You guys know each other,” Chris said with interest, wanting the story.

Sheva seemed more than willing to give it, eager even. “I trained under Josh. He taught me everything I know.” She seemed so proud to know Josh and looked up to him so blatantly that Chris’s heart clenched. 

“Sheva became the little sister of the team,” Captain Stone explained to Chris, his eyes swimming with affection. The clench started to _hurt_ and Chris had to remind himself why he didn’t currently have a team. Jill was gone and Chris wasn’t ready for more than one person relying on him. All he was good at was getting people killed, even if a huge part of him yearned to have a family like this of his own. He swallowed it down and nodded along with the narrative. Stone switched to the mission and that was— that was good. 

“Now Sheva,” the man said, brisk and commanding. “You must continue your search for Irving. According to the data we retrieved from the hard drive, we believe he has moved on to the mining area.” Captain Stone looked to Chris as he held a small flash drive in the air. “There’s more info inside.” Stone handed Chris the drive and then turned back to Sheva. “We will follow after taking care of business here. And keep your radios handy just in case.”

“Thanks Josh,” Sheva said with a nod. 

The Captain turned away and left the room, living Chris and Sheva alone in the small room. Chris pulled out his phone and fed the drive into the bottom, scanning the information that was given to him. Information on the Plaga, the situation, names and dates and numbers like shipment ID codes. A lot of it was useless, most of it didn’t make sense, but there were pictures too, and one of them—

Chris froze, stopped breathing, stopped thinking. He stared into the face of Jill Valentine with bleach blond hair, her expression slack and somehow older than last he’d seen her. Disbelief bled through him as he whispered, “Jill…”

Memories flashed past his eyes, the Spencer mansion and the lightning, Wesker’s awful smile and his bruising grip, Jill’s final action on this earth being saving Chris’s life. The shattered glass and Chris’s empty hand reaching uselessly into the darkness below. 

The funeral.

“Chris?” Sheva called out. “Are you alright?”

Chris’s awareness snapped to the woman beside him, his new partner. “This picture, it’s…” But was it wise to tell her? This was Jill, this was a Jill Chris wasn’t familiar with because she had _aged_, which was something corpses didn’t do. He didn’t know how or why, but he could only assume that Jill was somehow, inexplicably, _alive_ and Chris suddenly had a very different mission than Sheva. Irving be damned, if Jill was alive, then the world could burn for all he cared. And he didn’t know if Sheva could stand by that. “Forget it,” he said quickly. He didn’t have proof, only a picture. It wasn’t worth throwing everything away for— yet. “It’s nothing.”

He looked down at the table after taking his phone away and saw a file labeled “Type Two Plagas.” Now _that_ was useful. A quick scanned revealed that some of Chris’s assumptions had proven correct. This was a new breed of Plaga, working much faster than its original strain, overtaking a victim in mere seconds as opposed to days. This new Plaga was administered orally and was already matured by the time it was implanted in its new host. An awful way to go, if Chris was being honest. But then again… 

He thought of Leon and how the man had suffered to the slow growth of the Plaga inside of him, the blood and the loss of self, the way he’d trembled apart in Chris’s arms. A cold shudder laced through Chris at the memory of Leon’s pain. He was— so fucking grateful Leon wasn’t here for this. Chris had a habit of viewing a mission in two different ways: if he wished Leon were with him versus being relieved that Leon was somewhere else. This assignment with the Type Two Plaga was definitely proving to be an assignment of the latter. The infected— now called the Majini— were suffering for only a few seconds compared to the days it had taken for others. Chris was just glad Leon wasn’t here so he wouldn’t have to relive the horror of infection.

There was a plan in the notes as well. Infect ten people, see how it spread, and then see how the BSAA stood up against the infected. This was a test. They had been dropped into a war zone that proved to be an experiment. Jesus Christ, Chris had a hard time believing just Irving was behind all of this. A field test of this scale was something almost corporate and not something a lowly virus peddler was capable of on his own.

And that was the crux of the matter— there was more than just the virus. Something big was happening and it was costing good soldiers their lives. Chris thought of Kirk and told himself he’d see this through for the fallen pilot. Kirk would want justice and Chris would do his best to make it happen in the man’s memory. He owed Kirk as much for how many times Kirk had saved Chris’s skin. 

He put down the file and looked to Sheva, expression grim from what he’d learned and eyes shining with determination for the decision he’d made in Kirk’s name. He was going to lose another soldier ever again. “Let’s move out. Do you know where the mines are?”

“Past the station,” Sheva replied. “Not too far from here. Follow me.” 

Chris restocked on his ammo before following Sheva out of the safe house and back into the heat. He couldn’t wait for the sun to set. Behind the safe house were rail cars lined up in an orderly fashion, telling Chris they were close to a train station and some tracks. Nothing was operating and everything was covered in rust and signs of disuse. There were the scattered sounds of claws on metal and Chris braced himself for more dogs, glad he’d gotten a good amount of shells for the shotgun. “They just don’t stop, do they?”Sheva laughed. “They do seem a little obsessed with us— guess we can brag we have avid fans.”

Chris grinned, cocked the shotgun, and slammed a slug into the first dog that came around the corner, shredding its head. There wasn’t even time for the infected to yelp and Chris preferred it. More dogs came, more for them to kill, but some of them looked different— hyenas, wild and when uninfected, smart enough to stay away from humans. If hyenas were infected now, it meant that the virus had stretched far beyond just Kijuju— this entire situation had officially gone from worse to apocalyptic. 

They moved quickly through the train station and surrounding mess of cars, taking down the infected that got in their way with cold indifference. It was easier than killing the T-Virus infected because, as far as Chris knew, the only cure for the Plaga had been blown to smithereens by a trigger-happy Ada Wong. Maybe if she had left the island standing, BSAA could have gone in and found a way to expedite the curing process, but everything had been destroyed by her. Now, all Chris and Sheva could do was put down the infected and hope that there was some sort of afterlife for the victims to go to. Someplace better than this.

The mountain range towered in front them, huge and piercing the sky. “This way,” Sheva directed, darting in front of Chris to drop down a ledge and land in a mine cart. The cart rolled forward, slow and useless, and Sheva shot at bombs that were lining the track that were poor excuses for traps. Chris followed her, eyes searching for more enemies as he followed her to what was a huge elevator made of steel beams that only went down into the depths below. The mine cart came to a halt in the elevator and Sheva turned back to wait for him. 

“This is our ticket down,” she told him as Chris joined her in the elevator, grimacing at the tight space and the darkness below. Chris smacked his fist into a green button on a console to the side and the elevator dropped into the pitch black. The descent was quick and they stopped in front of a tunnel that seems to stretch forever. There was a soft yellow glow suddenly behind Chris, and he looked back to see Sheva was holding a lantern. “I’ve got the light,” she told Chris. “Stay close to me.”

The mine went on forever, infected springing from the darkness and trying to catch them off guard. Sheva kept the light high so Chris could make the killing shots, bursting open heads with skilled repetition. The cold of the mind seeped into Chris’s clothes and froze the sweat clinging to his skin. Their breathing echoed and the water sloshed at their feet. There was nothing about this mine that made Chris feel even remotely in control. Tight corners, blindness, infected that suddenly knew when to stay quiet. A learning curve wasn’t exactly good news for them.

“We’re almost out,” Sheva assured him as they went deeper and deeper. “I just— I’d hoped they wouldn’t have come this far from the town.” Chris knew the feeling. The Majini wouldn’t stop coming and Sheva was starting to look a little pale. Being down here, closed in with stale air— it was more than just bad for their health, it was bad for their psyches.

When sunlight filtered in from far head, Chris redacted his previous sentiment and decided he was happy the sun was still up. But the closer the got, the colder the light became, and Chris realized they weren’t seeing the sun, but floodlights, sterile and overpowering. They came into a huge open air shaft the size of a baseball field, equipment towering above and Majini littering the area. Levels were cut into the walls surrounding, a gradual ascent. “Up there!” Sheva shouted, pointing to the highest level and a tunnel that was bored into the rock there. “That’s our way out!”

Chris cocked the shotgun and grimaced. “Let’s make this quick.”

The Majini came in waves, Chris and Sheva staying at the bottom of the shaft to funnel the infected and keep themselves from being overwhelmed. When the thick of it was thinned, Sheva brought Chris forward, leading him up the winding maze of walkways and bridges to get to the tunnel above. Then it was more darkness and more poisoned air, Chris wanting to hold his breath to keep his lungs clean on instinct. The Majini _kept coming_ and he marveled at how far the infection had spread, reaching so far beyond the town that it seemed like all of the continent had been infected. An exaggeration, but he couldn’t account for how many were attacking them and how organized the efforts were. Whoever was behind this— it wasn’t just Irving. Chris knew that beyond a fucking doubt.

“Here.”

Sheva’s voice broke through his thoughts. He saw the elevator and felt like he could cry. Chris climbed in after her and the lift ascended, bringing them back to fresh air and daylight. Chris sucked in a huge gulp of the oxygen and shook out his hands, shook out the pain. He hadn’t been badly injured so far, which meant there was no reason for one of his shots, but he wanted the morphine regardless. His knuckles were bleeding and his thoughts were fraying a little, torn between the task at hand and Jill. Was she alive? Had that been fake? Was it a cheap copy or actually her? And if she was alive, then— fucking _how?_ She’d fallen, _Chris and seen it_, he’d watched her drop out of sight into the depths below with Wesker held in her arms. And if Jill was alive, then Wesker—

They came out of the caves to see a building on stilts, some kind of survey room for the mine with stairs leading up. Chris and Sheva traded glances, then nods, and Chris went up the stairs first. Sheva bounded up behind him and put her back to the door, looking to Chris for the okay. Chris took in a deep, steadying breath, then nodded again. Sheva shoved the door open and Chris dropped inside first, staying low, Matilda up.

And there he was.

“Freeze!” Chris shouted as Irving fumbled to gather files from a table. The slimy man cursed and brought out a gun of his own, aiming it between Chris and Sheva, his eyes wild and unfocused as if he was on some sort of drug. “So you must be Irving,” Chris said.

Irving wheezed a sound like a rat. “Wow, perceptive, aren’t ‘cha!” Jesus, where the fuck was this guy from and where the fuck did he get off? 

“You think this is a joke?” Sheva spat, advancing. “You’re just like all the other pieces of scum terrorists!”

“Oh I’m not like them!” Irving garbled out, his voice sounding like nails and helium. He laid a hand over his chest, animated, stroking his own ego. “I’m a business man with standards.”  
“Drop the weapon!” Chris ordered, stomping forward, already tired of this asshole’s shit.

“Or!” Irving shrieked. “How about you drop yours?”

As Irving whipped his gun indecisively between Chris and Sheva, Chris readying to pull the trigger, a canister dropped through the open window. Chris saw the smoke begin to poor out and quickly covered his mouth, the gas filling his lungs. He coughed and hacked and gasped for pure air as someone fell into the room via the windows, swathed in a black cloak with a plague mask covering their face, bright red glowing eyes piercing the smoke. “Hurry,” insisted a female voice.

“Suckers!” Irving shouted with a laugh as he rolled out of the window backwards, the cloaked figure— a woman— leaping after him. The smoke cleared with the open windows and Chris gagged with the last of the gas. 

Fuck, Irving—

Chris and Sheva both ran to the window, getting behind the walls for cover and then peaking over the ledge to see— nothing. No one. Irving and his mysterious protector had gotten away. He heaved a sigh. “Great.”

“Looks like Irving has a partner,” Sheva said, validating Chris’s earlier suspicions. 

Chris turned back into the room. “There must be something here he didn’t want us to see!” He went to the table Irving had been at, pushing through papers and folders, searching for something useful.

“What is it?” Sheva asked, coming up beside Chris.

Chris scowled when he found a map and photos of an industrial site. “Look at this,” he said, holding it up for Sheva to see.

“The oil field,” Sheva observed quietly, knowing the location. “That’s in the marshlands!”

Fuck. Chris chimed into the coms. “Delta Team, Chris here. We located Irving, but he got away.”

Captain Stone’s voice filtered through and Sheva seemed to relax minutely at the sound of her friend alive and well. _“Do you know where he went?”_

“We think he’s heading for an oil field in the marshlands.”

_“Okay,”_ Captain Stone confirmed. _“I’m sending someone after him now. I need you two to head back this way.”_

Chris grimaced, hating the taste of failure. “Roger that.”

“We can head back through the mines,” Sheva suggested. “Or we can go around the other side of this mountain. Maybe stay above ground.”Chris liked the sound of that. “Lead the way.”

She led Chris out of the survey room, back into the heat and the layers of rock carved out into roads in the side of the mountain. Majini were spaced out sparingly, almost like they hadn’t managed to get as many infected to the mountain as intended. At this rate, Chris and Sheva would run out of ammo before ever actually succumbing to the strength of the infected. Still, the numbers were small up here and Sheva knew the way, bringing him to the ladders and letting Chris go up first for his own peace of mind. They wrapped around the mining area and were heading for the road that would lead them out of there, Chris just ready to be back with Captain Stone and his fellow BSAA soldiers.

“Gonna be a bit of a walk,” Sheva told him as they jogged for the road that scaled the mountain. “Up for a schoolyard race?”Chris pulled on a grin, considering quipping something back. The sun was beginning to set, the world bathed in a golden glow, and the earth was already beginning to cool off from the boil of the day. He was ready for something besides the heat and the light and he was ready to get to a safe area where he could pour over the info in his phone again, maybe find something more on Jill. Captain Stone would handle Irving and Chris would be able to storm BSAA HQ and demand David get rid of the handler of this op, because that man didn’t give a shit about any of them. He opened his mouth to accept Sheva’s competition when he heard something out of place and stopped in his tracks. Sheva stopped dead too, her expression washing over with worry. “Oh great,” Chris griped as he realized the sound was a horn.

Around the corner, a truck barreled towards them, its cargo end swaying dangerously with the turns. The truck suddenly skidded and slid, the front end scraping the mountain wall and shredding the Majini inside, while the tail end swung over the cliff side, leveed by the weight. The truck ground to a halt and Sheva and Chris brought their guns up, getting close to the worse end of low on ammo. They stood side by side, watching the end of the truck, waiting for the worst.

The backs doors raised slowly and mechanically, far beyond regular industry. It was a containment chamber, and whatever was inside was being let loose. Chris took a step forward, wanting a better look, wanting to see what was coming before it was—

There was a shrieked, grating and mind-splitting, and a fucking honest _monster_ crawled atop the container. The head of a bat, the wings of one too, though twice as many, and the lower body was like the abdomen of a wasp, huge and bulbous and wet, dripping with some sort of naturally produced mucous membrane. Powerful flaps of those webbed wings brought the monster into the air, hah above, casting a long shadow of fear. Chris staggered back, disgusted by what he saw, and Sheva made a noise of horror. Whatever this thing was, it was engineered and deliberate and _it definitely wasn’t Plaga._ They were dealing with something else on top of this, something like the leeches that had taken out Alpha Team. They were in deep shit and didn’t even know the half of it. But for now—

“Stay with me,” Chris ordered. “Aim for the lower body or the eyes. If it falls, get close enough to lay into whatever spot is bleeding the most. And don’t lose your head.”

“Got it!” Sheva shouted. “On you, Captain!”

Chris lost his head to those words and missed the creature dive-bombing them. At the last second, Chris’s instincts kicked in and he flung himself to the side, hitting the ground badly but miraculously still alive. On you, _on you,_ oh god, that had been the wrong thing for Sheva to say. His hands were suddenly shaking and he couldn’t remember how many bullets he had left. Chris swallowed down the panic and brought Matilda up anyways, firing into the creature that crawled too quickly across the ground, sprinting for them both. His shots landed in the eyes and the creature writher, but didn’t slow, not until Sheva sprayed her MP5 into the tail end and the flesh was blown away to reveal a pulsating mass of pink and red beneath.

Oh thank fucking god, it had a visible weak spot.

“The shotgun!” Sheva cried out as she laid fire into the monster to give Chris time to breathe. “Tear this thing apart!”

Chris ran forward to Sheva’s side, whipping out the gun and tearing into the quivering mass of meat with three slugs before the thing was wavering back onto its pincer-legs, moving quicker than Chris had thought something this big should be able to. It’s sickening abdomen swung over its head and thorax, the bottom shooting out sticky matter like a spider shooting web. Chris rolled to dodge the liquid that became a solid once it hit the ground, hardening before his eyes. “Don’t let it get you with that shit!”  
“Way ahead of you, partner!” Sheva cried out. “Hold on!” She darted off, into a building up the winding mountainside roads, leaving Chris with this fucking thing. 

He scowled and brought up Matilda as he turned and ran, the creature heaving itself across the ground after him, snapping its oversized jaw. Spit or something else, whatever was inside this thing, splattered across the back of Chris’s neck from how close behind him it was. He dug his boots in and broke into a dead sprint, getting a good few yards of distance before spinning around on his heel and laying more shells into the thing’s face as he did. It screamed at him but didn’t slow, and Chris had to turn and run again. The thundering of its steps shook Chris’s balance and the heat of its breath crawled with the panic in his chest. He turned, fired again, did little to no damage, faced forward once more and saw the ground suddenly drop into nothing straight ahead of him, the cliff side his death sentence as the thing got closer and closer with each awful lurch of its body.

Chris reached the cliff, turned sharply, took his last stance with Matilda rather than the shotgun— because he always had intended to die with Leon, so Leon’s gun was second best— and fired into the eyes as it lumbered closer and closer, its massive jaws snapping and stretching wide, eager to fit Chris inside, eager to wrap its forked tongue and draw him in and swallow him whole. Chris didn’t give up on his shots, slamming in a fresh clip when he ran out, holding his breath past the stench, thinking of Leon as the monster was close enough for him to feel the moisture out of its throat, the death and disease, the sickening virus, the sun was blotted out by the creature as—

A loud shot rang out and the creature was flung to the side by the force of the high caliber bullet, writhing on the ground. Chris ran forward without a moment of hesitation, bringing out the shotgun again now that death was no longer immediate. He squeezed his mouth shut again to the revolting spray of blood and puss as he laid into the abdomen again, the creature screaming in agony as more and more of it was blown away. 

The creature turned over onto its back, then onto its front again, and flung itself into the air with those powerful wings. Chris took a step back, watching the thing soar and hover and then drop down again, nosediving for Chris. He brought up Matilda, knew he wouldn’t damage it enough, and then blinked in surprise as a shower of machine gun fire slammed into the face and the body and tore through the wings. The creature was thrown back, hitting its container hard, scrambling for purchase on the clean metal. It shrieked and wailed and screeched and then slipped, its heavy weight bringing the container down with it. The creature crashed against the side of the mountain as it fell and gave one last scream to the world before it hit the ground and stopped moving, the container exploding upon impact and hiding the body of the monster with the smoke of destruction. 

Chris peered over the ledge as Sheva ran up to his side, staring down the cliff face with him, both of them stunned that it was over so quickly. And the machine gun fire—

There was the friction of rubber on rock. Chris looked up a Gambit climbed the mountain road to them, the vehicle speeding almost dangerously towards them. The driver yanked the wheel and the Gambit drifted in a complete three-sixty, facing away back down the road in a single, smooth move. Into the back, Chris could see a man in a BSAA uniform in the passenger seat, and in the driver’s—

USSTRATCOM Agent Leon S. Kennedy twisted around in his seat, sunglasses on the brim of his nose, blond hair flying about from the wind and heat, a brown leather jacket with a single stripe across the chest framing his lithe torso as he sat up, piercing Chris with his blue eyes, and yelled, “Chris, Sheva— get in!”

And that—

How—

Sheva ran past into the Gambit, but Chris couldn’t move. Cold dread washed through Chris has he realized what was happening, who that exterior agency operative was, what exactly was necessary to be considering an expert on the Plaga. Leon S. Kennedy was back in hell and Chris knew for a fact that this— this could only end ugly for them both.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AS YOU MAY NOTICE this fic is officially correctly labeled as being multi chap ;u; I'm so sorry for my blunder please forgive. I'm also glad the action isn't too overwhelming so far! it's very hard to balance but I'm finding Leon's POV a lot easier, possibly because Chris and Leon together creates a lot more inner narrative. who knows! I'm enjoying this a little more now and can't wait to see what y'all think :D

To be completely honest, Leon wasn’t surprised Chris hadn’t said a damn thing to him since Leon had shown his face. Leon had been in Kijuju for just over forty-eight hours at this point, working with Beta and Charlie Teams in collecting information on a certain pharmaceutical cell that was reportedly in the area and not exactly being crystal clear with its intentions, digging into the data STRAT had uncovered under President Benford’s investigation, working with the BSAA to uncover secrets that Leon couldn’t share with the class, but grateful for the obedient and silent cooperation he was receiving from the men. His first time working with the BSAA had been proving to be a pleasant one up until the moment the men had been rallied for a fight, saying a viral arms dealer had made a trade in the village of Kijuju which was close to where Leon was investigating, essentially spelling bad news for the rest of Leon’s assignment. 

Adam had wanted Leon to come back to the states. Leon had been ready to agree until he’d heard a certain name over the BSAA comms unit about the arrival of a particular BSAA Captain that would be helping in investigation and containment. After he’d heard that name, he’d faked a bad connection with Adam and informed Hannigan that he’d be taking personal leave to “see the sights Africa had to offer.” After hitching a ride with Beta Team into the thick of it, Leon had heard of the downfall of Alpha Team and Delta Team being sent in and the worsening outbreak of a B.O.W.— the fucking Plaga. From there, it had been easy to convince Captain Stone to allow Leon to stick around. His experience and willingness to help, coupled with his absolute stubbornness and inability to be swayed, had landed him pretty quickly on the roster for handling this whole situation. BSAA Director David Trapp had thrown in a _very_ good word for Leon as well, so it hadn’t come as a surprise to Leon to be given access so quickly. 

What _had_ been a surprise, though, was finding out Chris was without a team and had only a solitary partner that Chris had never met before. Leon had always assumed Chris would find himself a new family within the BSAA as soon as possible. Not that it was easy to get over a certain level of betrayal, but simply because three years was a long time and Chris needed a family to keep himself sane. Leon hadn’t dug too deep every time he’d checked up on Chris, so he had always assumed Chris had gotten himself another team, made himself Captain Redfield, and proved he could lead better than the disgraced O’Brian ever could.

It was sobering to find out how wrong Leon had been.

“H-hey!” BSAA Delta Team’s Dave Johnson stammered in a panic as Leon got a little too close to the ledge on a sharp turn than the soldier would have liked. Leon fought the urge to roll his eyes. The BSAA was full of a bunch of babies when it came to Leon’s driving. It was like they wanted grandma at the steering wheel. “Be careful! We don’t wanna kill them after picking them up!”

“Who are you?”

The woman was asking, Sheva Alomar, tough as nails and Chris’s new partner. Leon was surprised Chris had accepted a partner at all for any op after losing Jill. Again, three years was a long time, but Chris was a special kind of unpredictable. Leon glanced the woman over the in rearview and found himself jealous of the revealing top she was sporting. It was practical for the heat of this place. Leon would give anything to shed the leather jacket if he didn’t have a personal vendetta against sunburn. 

“He’s Agent Kennedy,” Dave said once Leon failed to respond, taking too long in his head. “He’s here to help.”

“So they just yanked you in and condemned you to this all over again?” Chris asked, startling Leon, not only with his words and vehemence, but the fact that he was talking to Leon at all. “No choice? Did they give you more than ten bullets at least?”

Leon faltered, unsure of how to respond without giving too much away. “Actually, I volunteered,” he settled on, keeping his tone even. “I was in the area. Heard some shit was going down, heard your name, figured I could help.” He met Chris’s eyes in the mirror, really looked at Chris for the first time, and—

Holy _shit._

Leon wasn’t an emotional man anymore, he had his jobs and he did them and he had his people and he cared for them and that was it. Chris Redfield was officially a thing of Leon’s past whether he liked it or not, but this— this fucking electricity, those warm eyes so severe and cold and still so very _Chris,_ the way Chris just bled courage and strength— 

Three years was a long time. Leon S. Kennedy was absolutely not over Chris Redfield, though he would take that fact to his grave. He needed to just get that intrusive thought out of the way and work through it.

“I’m here because I chose to be,” Leon told Chris firmly, getting over how dry his mouth had gone for a second. God fucking damn, did Chris look _good._ It had been hard to think Chris could have gained anymore muscle mass since Leon had last seen him, but how wrong Leon had been. “No one forced me.”

“So they’re not just using you for you experience?”

The way Chris spat the word was a little too aggressive for Leon’s taste. “You have just as much experience with the Plaga as I do,” Leon replied stiffly, not liking the way Chris was talking to him the more he heard it. 

“So you _are_ the Kennedy from the Kennedy Report,” Sheva cut in. And that— was surprising for her to say for a number of reasons.

“Though I will break protocol and tell you that, yes, I am that Kennedy, I do have to ask how you know that report.” He raised a brow at her in the mirror, less than half his focus on the road. Dave was clutching the dashboard, nervous as hell. “It’s not exactly something you’ll find on the shelves of your local bookstore, if you catch my drift.”

“I was given access to the file when being brought into the BSAA,” Sheva explained. “A lot of people are shown the report just as a cautionary tale. It’s hard to really understand what you’re getting into without seeing some proof. They use the Kennedy Report to scare off the weaker ones. No names, of course.”

“But you know the name.”

She smiled and it was almost infectious, bright and young and genuine. “After I got in, I made sure to do a little digging of my own. I wanted to know what I was up against. Be ready for anything, right?”

Leon liked her tenacity. “Unfortunately, I’m not much of an expert on the one what we’re facing here,” he said, wanting to keep expectations low. 

“It’s Type Two Plaga,” Sheva said, nodding. “It works faster.” She paused. Leon kept his eyes on the road as he eased off the mountainside and into the plains, heading for the rendezvous back at Kijuju. “Captain Redfield mentioned that someone in your party was infected by the Plaga.”

She left the statement hanging in the air, giving Leon a choice. Beside him, Dave Johnson looked like he was trying to keep from listening in. It was impossible not to eavesdrop on a conversation right beside him, though. Leon glanced to Chris in the rearview and saw the guilt. Leon had left his infection out of the report for a reason. “I was infected,” he finally said. “But the infection still took just over a night to really take affect. While I was prone to fits of uncontrollable violence, I was still me up until a few hours before dawn.”

“And you were cured?”

“Yes,” Leon affirmed. “There was a researcher and scientist who sadly died in that country. He was able to give me pills that would fight off the infection for as long as it could.” The last of which had been handed off to President Benford’s new bioterrorism R-and-D department for examination and perfection and possible extension into other viruses. Simmons was fronting the research. “From there, on the island, we found a device capable of removing the Plaga from the spinal cord if the Plaga had not grown to full maturity yet. A painful process, but definitely preferable to the only other outcome.”

“And this device?”Jesus, Sheva wanted to know if she could cure the infected. Had Chris not told her? Ada had destroyed that thing. “It’s gone,” Leon said. “If you remember from the report, the unexplained self destruct of the island that was likely a common failsafe decimated everything. As far as I know, that was the only one in existence.”

“So we can’t help them,” Sheva said, falling back into her seat, that brightness fading in her eyes. Leon watched Chris put out a steady hand, resting it on Sheva’s shoulder in an act of comfort that Sheva accepted. Her large, youthful eyes were mournful and full of regret. She was of the West Africa branch, after all. This was her jurisdiction and her responsibility. And more than that, these were her people. Depending on where Sheva had been stationed, she might’ve been able to name some of the infected she’d had to kill today.

“That’s the way of B.O.W.s,” Dave Johnson said grimly. “We keep making cures that they keep bypassing. Defense won’t win us any wars.” The soldier sighed. “I heard about Irving. Tough break.”

“Yes,” Sheva confirmed. “But there will be other opportunities.” She pressed her finger to her earpieces, the device chirping. “Sheva to headquarters.”

_“This is headquarters,”_ said the operation handler. Leon sat up in his seat a little, eager to hear this person’s voice for the first time. Hannigan wasn’t able to get her fingers into the BSAA as easily as Leon had, so it would be weird working with someone else. Though judging by the look on Chris’s face, the man wasn’t very happy with their handler, which meant Leon probably wouldn’t be either. _“What’s your situation?”_

“There’s a high probability that Irving is on his way to an oil field in the marshlands. We’re re-joining Delta Team and heading there now.”

_“Understood.”_

The transaction ended, leaving Leon feel a little blindsided as he drove steadily through the savanna, small plateaus rising up around them and blocking their wide field of view. “That’s it?” Leon asked as he leaned forward, checking the area and hating how he suddenly couldn’t see what was coming. “No relay of info, no descriptions of possible combatants, no added details on the wellbeing of the other teams?” He scowled and gripped the steering wheel, feeling all eyes on him for daring to voice a complaint against the enigmatic BSAA. Leon leaned even further forward, trying to get an eye on the skies. The sun was starting to set, it would be dark soon. He couldn’t fucking _see._ “It’s like they love recruiting kids to replace their dead.”

There was a hand on the back of Leon’s seat. “Kennedy, what are you looking for?” Chris.

Leon’s scowl turned into a grimace as he replied, “I have a bad feeling.”

“Sheva, get on the main turret,” Chris ordered without hesitation, standing and swaying with the bounce of the Gambit. Leon’s attention was split between trying to figure out why his nerves were raised and why Chris was suddenly getting so close. Then the man was even closer, standing beside Leon, pushing himself through the hole at the top of the Gambit to man the secondary turret, his legs warm against Leon’s shoulder. Talk about distracting. “Johnson!” Chris called out from above, speaking louder to be heard over the air whipping past. Leon rolled down the driver side window, pulling Rot from where it was strapped to his thigh. “Keep your eyes peeled! Don’t let Kennedy make all the shots!”

“I don’t even know what we’re looking for,” Dave Johnson groused on the other side of Chris, pulling out a standard MP5 and looking out his window. “There’s just desert, there’s nothing—”

From over the plateaus, motorbikes arched through the air, launched off the natural rock formations like ramps. Leon cursed and swerved the Gambit to avoid the infected that sped towards and past him, grabbing Chris by the pants to keep the man from tipping over with the sudden sharp turn. “Rise and shine, kids!” He called out as he slid Rot out the window and lined up an easy shot, cleanly taking out the head of the infected and sending the bike careening out of control. The setting sun behind them painted the death in an ethereal glow. “We’ve got some night owls coming for our throats!”

“Sheva!” Chris shouted, planting his stance solidly. “We can’t let any of them get up on the front engine!”

“Do what you gotta do to stop ‘em!” Dave Johnson cried out as he stuck the barrel of his MP5 out the window and laid into more of the bastards that were coming. Bikes dipped and weaved in and out of Leon’s range of sight, around the Gambit and encircling them like some sort of twisting dance. “But don’t get too trigger happy or the guns’ll overheat! If that happens, we’ll be an easy target until they cool down!”

“Get us out of here, Leon!”

Chris’s wild order was what really got through to Leon. He yanked Rot back into the Gambit and put all his focus on driving, trusting the other three to handle the infected so he could get them out. Dave Johnson would soon be grateful for Leon’s driving skills. No one was faster than him.

Around Leon, explosions of fire and gasoline lit up the darkening world. He did his best to keep the Gambit steady as the infected swung a little too close for comfort, one of them coming up so close to Leon’s drivers side that Leon could see the twisted smile splitting the thing’s face, eyes red and wild with bloodlust. For a second, Leon saw himself in the demented gaze, the moment when he’d had Krauser’s knife at Chris’s neck, insane to the core, so far gone he’d been about to kill the man he so recklessly loved. Staring into the eyes of an infected reminded Leon of his own fragile mortality. Then the infected was chipped away by bullets, courtesy of Chris Redfield and his big gun.

Leon shook the memory, looking ahead, smacked Chris’s leg. “We’ve got some sharp curves up ahead! Hold on!” There wasn’t much more time to brace, Leon winding the wheel to go with the road, wishing he could just go off the beaten path and get them back to Kijuju faster. Behind, Sheva cried out and Leon panicked to think she’d been hit. He couldn’t afford to turn round and look, though, he had to have faith. 

Comms filtered static and Leon covered his ear, listening closely. _“This is Captain Stone, Delta Team. I just received word from HQ. Based on the data you uploaded from the hard drive, most of the town’s people have been infected by a parasite called Las Plagas.”_

Leon flinched at the name and yanked the wheel, taking another sharp curve and holding onto Chris’s BDUs to keep him from falling. At Chris’s other side, Dave Johnson let up on his cover fire to cast Leon a look of what almost seemed to be pity.

_“The data refers to the infected as Majini.”_

“Great,” Leon griped. “Las Plagas, take two.”

“What does all of this have to do with Ouroboros?” Chris asked, making Leon tense even more. He knew quite a bit about Ouroboros simply from his investigation. But he had no idea what Las Plagas was meshing with Ouroboros or why TRICELL was even interested in Las Plagas to begin with. Las Plagas had apparently been perfected, but it still wasn’t the huge monster-maker people on the black market wanted these days. 

_“You got me,”_ Captain Stone sighed. _“They didn’t say.”_

“Looks like the only way we’re getting answers is from Irving.”

Chris was probably right, which was why Leon’s investigation had slowed so monumentally there at the end, enough for him to excuse ditching the investigation entirely and coming to help the BSAA handle a mess that he should have ended completely back in Spain. He had no doubt that Las Plagas was still going strong thanks to Ada Wong, but Leon couldn’t shift all responsibility because he should’ve stopped Ada Wong too. It was just a shitty situation and a mess and a half. 

An explosion rattled Leon back to the present and he made another sharp turn to avoid a truck loaded with infected men. If any of those fuckers got on the Gambit, Leon wouldn’t be able to defend Chris or Dave or Sheva. Up ahead, the road turned into a huge pack of these fuckers on bikes, the infected showing impeccable predictive abilities, knowing Leon was going to follow the road. He cursed and readied himself to throw a wrench in it. “Gonna get bumpy— hang on!” He grabbed Chris again and went off road, the Gambit jumping and swaying violently as he ran over the terrain, getting back to the road far down the way. Dave Johnson yelped as he knocked his head and Leon winced as his own skull slammed up into the roof of the Gambit. But Chris and Sheva were still firing, so everything was fine.

Leon got back on the road and the world _shook_ as something big blew itself into smithereens, Sheva letting out a crow of triumph. The road kept fucking curving, Leon no longer having time to give a warning as he drifted around a hard turn, his arm wrapping around Chris’s whole left leg to keep him up. As the Gambit righted itself on all four wheels again, static clipped into their comms. Leon readied himself for anything more on Irving, but his heart sunk when he heard Captain Stone start shouting. 

_“We are under attack!”_ The man was crying out, desperate for help. _“There are too many of them to handle!”_

“Fuck!” Leon burst out, hitting the steering wheel before turning hard again, slamming the side of the Gambit into an infected on a bike out of pure frustration. He couldn’t get this thing moving any faster!

_“Reinforcements are en route,”_ the handler came in with, like reinforcements could revive the dead. _“Hold your position until they arrive. Repeat, hold your position!”_

“Let’s pick up the pace!” Dave pleaded, a request Leon couldn’t feasibly deliver on. The Gambit was already pedal to the metal and Leon was cutting corners as it was. He thought of the men he’d worked with, Teams Beta and Charlie, and knew Delta would be widely the same, full of young men and women, brave and willing to put their lives on the line, yet underserving to lose those lives. Leon’s grip on the steering wheel was white. He floored it and his heart sunk as the speedometer failed to change. He was going as fast as he could and it wouldn’t be enough.

“Leon!”

Glass shattered just behind Leon, and something white hot flecked his skin like boiling rain. Dave Johnson arched over his seat at the sound of Chris’s shouted, slapping at Leon’s back, telling Leon that he’d probably been on fucking fire for a moment. He didn’t let go of the wheel, didn’t stop driving, trusting the others to make sure he didn’t get ganked by some  
wayward molotov. It wasn’t like they would be able to yank his dead body out of the driver’s seat in time to keep the Gambit from flipping. “We’re almost there!” Leon shouted, flicking on the headlights as the world got even darker. “Just a little more!” 

Ahead, a barricade of trucks and men blocked the road with fires showcasing the danger. “Hold tight,” he growled as he clung to Chris’s leg and veered off road again, bypassing the barricade entirely. Chris and Sheva laid into the barricade enforcements as they passed, but Leon wasn’t going to give them time to do real damage. Thinning the herd didn’t mean shit when Delta Team was under attack. The road began to follow a river, meaning there was definitely a bridge up ahead. Leon glanced in the rearview mirrors and saw they were still being avidly pursued, the fuckers having a seemingly endless supply of bikes and expendable infected. He turned his attention ahead as saw the blockade warning the bridge was out. 

“We gotta go around it!” Dave cried out.

“Hang on!” Leon shouted instead, slamming through the blockade and quickly scanning the ruined bridge, finding it split in half down the middle, steel beams twisted and torn with evidence of a manmade sabotage. Part of the broken end of the bridge lurched upwards, a ramp, Leon saw a fucking ramp. He gunned it, held tight to Chris, ignored the way Dave Johnson started screaming, and sped straight for the incline, the Gambit flying up into the air and over the gap, landing gracelessly. Leon barely kept the Gambit under control as they landed on the other side of the ruined bridge. He grinned sharply to himself once he was sure he’d made the landing and relaxed minutely, knowing the infected couldn’t follow. The savanna became the streets of Kijuju, quiet and dark, alarmingly empty. It didn’t matter, though, the infected couldn’t follow them over that bridge and they were on their way to rescue Delta Team.

“Jesus,” Dave Johnson breathed beside him as Chris bent down and out of the hole in the ceiling, heading into the back of the Gambit again. “Is every STRAT agent a frequent flyer like you?”

That sounded alarmingly like a joke, and Leon’s sharp grin failed to fall away. “Let’s just say I’m a returning customer.” He navigated the streets, trusting the others to keep their eyes up for any signs of more of their unending enemies. Everything was way too fucking quiet for an infected city and Leon was looking too long at shadows. “Seems pretty dead, if you ask me,” he murmured, lowering his voice out of paranoia. “And not in a good way.”

“Take a left up here,” Dave said quietly.

Leon followed the order, moving more cautiously through the streets. His bad feeling wasn’t going away and he felt a weird tug at his neck. He brought his hand back to the air, touching the skin lightly, finding nothing out of the ordinary. It wasn’t where the fire had flecked him, so it wasn’t an injury, it was just a sharp little pull that was more annoying than painful. Still. He grimaced and moved his hand away, but not in time to keep Chris from giving him a suspicious look that Leon saw in the rearview. 

“You hurt, Kennedy?”

Leon fought from rolling his eyes. “Why are you calling me Kennedy?”

Chris immediately clammed up, giving Leon his answer. That goodbye on the tarmac in Spain had essentially been the most painful breakup Leon would ever experience. Chris was trying to keep him at arm’s length. Fantastic. “I’m fine,” he said, deciding he’d better answer the question. “Just felt like something bit me.”

Chris gave a grunt of affirmation that Leon barely heard over the rumble of the engine. “Another left,” Dave said, peering into what little the headlights illuminated. “We— we should be seeing them by now.”

Leon grimaced, his heart going out to the guy. This was his team that was under attack. The radio silence they’d been given since Stone’s SOS wasn’t encouraging. This wasn’t going to end well and it wasn’t just because Leon’s bad feeling was in perpetuity. “You guys see anything?”

“To the right.”  
Leon followed Chris’s direction and took a right turn down the next street.

There were— so many bodies. “Oh,” Dave Johnson said softly. “O-oh no…”

Leon couldn’t look at the bodies too long, his mind blotting away the images of the dead out of pure self preservation. He’d been ready for a lot today, but not this— not a massacre. Leon worked _alone_, meaning the body count would only ever himself and every other dead thing he came across normally got back up. But this— these were just soldiers. Men and women under the BSAA globe, men and women like Chris, all dead and rotting on the ground. And normally Leon would say he preferred the dead to stay dead, but seeing this had him thinking twice. 

“There might be survivors,” Sheva said, but Leon knew they’d be hearing anyone that survived right about now. The silence was worse than the screams of pain Leon wished for. Behind him, Chris’s hand gripped the back of Leon’s seat, and he heard the friction of Chris’s skin as he clenched. Leon grimaced as the headlights shone on a barricade that was thrown into pieces with no sign of explosive artillery being used. His bad feeling suddenly made a lot of sense. “What could have done this?” Sheva asked.

“I’ve got a hunch,” Leon said as he rolled the Gambit to a smooth stop. “Everyone, stay close. There could —“

Dave Johnson didn’t even bother pretending he’d heard Leon. The man scrambled out of the vehicle, not bothering with keeping his guard up as he ran to the nearest soldier. Dave dropped to his knees and pressed his ear to the dead man’s mouth and Leon’s chest clenched painfully. This was why Leon, suicidally, preferred to work alone. Loss was something Leon wasn’t strong enough to experience. Not in excess. “Stay with us, Johnson,” Leon warned as he climbed out after the man, Chris and Sheva following. Leon glanced back and met Chris’s eyes, and they stared into one another for a moment and—

And—

Leon felt himself get a little lost.

Chris Redfield, standing in front of Leon, alive and mostly-well, worn ragged by the years but never giving up. And here was Leon, inexplicably better while Chris only seemed worse. Chris tore their gazes apart and Leon felt regret, but he didn’t know why. “Johnson,” he called out again, watching Chris sweep the area, Leon’s attention split again. “Johnson, come on, that bad feeling I’ve got is pretty much permanent, we need to—”

The ground rumbled beneath his feet and Leon’s instincts went haywire. He looked to Chris again— always to Chris, always to make sure he was okay— and twin horror passed through them as they both realized. Leon stumbled back, rubber catching on stone, turning, “Johnson, come back—”

A HUMVEE was thrown through the air over their heads like a doll thrown during a tantrum and Leon looked to Dave in time to see the huge, gray leg of a giant come crashing down, crunching Dave Johnson into nothing beneath the sole of the foot. Leon staggered, momentarily stunned as his mind echoed the sounds of Dave’s bones snapping through his flesh and that final scream ringing in his ears. There was the touch of something warm and wet to Leon’s face. Leon stared up the back of this giant, lumbering beast and felt like he’d been slammed back in time. He whispered to himself, “El-fucking-Gigante.”

A hand snatched the back of his shirt, yanking him behind cover. Leon looked to Chris and saw the terror in the man’s eyes. Chris had seen these before, he’d helped Leon fight them, but this— this one looked different. Bigger, meaner, possibly with a modicum of intelligence thanks to the fucking _belt_ Leon had spotted around its waist, bodies hung from the rope that acted like a garter, implying this thing understood death and collected its favorite kills. Leon blinked slowly and wiped at his face. His hands came back red with blood and he knew where it had come from.

The monster stomped about, grunting and growling through its snout nose, disgusting Leon. An involuntary grimace overcame him as El Gigante two-point-oh flung another car, easy as breathing. He looked to Chris, then to Sheva, wanting to see what the plan was. It was obviously searching for—

Their cover was suddenly lifted like it weighed nothing, Sheva shouting a curse as Leon instantly rolled away and out of reach bringing his gun up to fire twice into the head of the behemoth. “Leon!” Chris shouted as he and Sheva went the other way, ducking beneath the massive creature and sprinting back for the Gambit. “Go, go, go!” Chris babbled as he and Sheva navigated rubble. Leon watched Chris whirl around and fire at the giant, his own shots landing solidly in the thing’s back, drawing the attention from Leon to Chris. “Get to the truck!” Chris ordered.

Sheva leaped into the back of the Gambit and yanked the M134 minigun around to lay a spray of bullets into the monster. Under the cover fire, Chris bounded up the back of the Gambit and went to the FN M249 SAW that he’d been using before, laying his own barrage of fire. The bullets tore into the monstrosity, and Leon was all but forgotten. He moved back, ducking low, finding cover, waiting. Sheva and Chris both wore expressions of ferocity as they tore into creature’s flesh. And as the monster stomped forward, only to stumble back with each shot that tore into its more sensitive organs, Leon waited. Held breath, pounding heart, knife in his hand, waiting.

Then the giant shuddered down to a knee and the parasite sprung from its neck. 

Leon darted forward, confident the artillery fire would halt once he was at a risk, and sure enough, the bullets fell silent, Chris screaming his name in a panic. Leon ignored him, vaulting himself off a fallen truck and landing on the monster’s back, running up the jagged curve of the spine to the writhing Plaga at the junction of the neck. Leon smirked. “Good to see you again, ugly,” he said, bouncing the hilt of the blade in his hand until it was dagger-down. The brute beneath his feet shifted and Chris was still screaming as Leon tore through the parasite with a downward slice of the blade. The Plaga shrieked and thrashed, but it couldn’t keep Leon from losing the pin on a grande from his belt and shoving it into the slit Leon had made in the flesh. He shoved the grenade into the slimy flesh and then leaped from the back, landing and rolling across the ground. 

He ran for the Gambit, going low and covering the back of his head. The monster roared as it swayed to its feet again, and then—

The harsh sound of the grenade going off had Leon flinching. Flesh and stone rained, but Leon kept going, sprinting for the Gambit and crawled into the back with the other two, four hands grabbing him by the back of the shirt and pulling him in. The giant bellowed to life again, but the roar was weaker and Leon grinned sharply to know he’d done some damage. “Keep firing!” He ordered to the other two. Sheva went back to her post quicker than a blink, the giant advancing for them again, but Chris lingered, staring down at where Leon was sitting on the floor of the Gambit. There was something wrong with the look in Chris’s eyes.

Then, before Leon had time to analyze, Chris was pulling away and going back for his gun, laying into the giant again. The thing was moving much slower and had an obvious limp, dark blood running down its back and from one of its eye sockets. The grenade had really done a number on the parasite inside. Leon stood beside Sheva, braced himself on her shoulder, and waited again, watching for the signs. The giant tore an electrical pole from the ground as some sort of weapon, but the artillery fire tore into its arm and it lost its grip entirely. It let out a warbled noise and charged for them again, opening up its last eye for the other two to lay into. The giant screamed, went down on a knee again only a few feet from the Gambit, and the parasite pierced the sky, screeching. The back of Leon’s neck felt pinched. 

“Leon, go!” Sheva shouted even as Leon was already sprinting forward, jumping from the back of the Gambit right onto the thing’s body. The knife flashed in the artificial light as he drew it from its sheath again. He yanked another grenade from his belt and jammed the knife into the parasite’s body, twisting and making a cozy little hole for him to shove another active grenade into after pulling the pin. He turned away, ready to head for cover again, and then did some quick math that had his heart in his throat. 

The Gambit was way too fucking close.

“Get down!” 

Leon dove for the Gambit, grabbing Sheva first and then Chris, yanking them both over the side of the Gambit, the three of them hitting the ground hard and barely avoiding the blow of shrapnel and bone as the grenade went off and shook the earth beneath their feet, the Gambit rocking harshly with the force of the explosion. There was a warbled sound and then a rattle to the world as the creature collapsed atop the vehicle, dead. 

“Gets easier every time,” Leon said from where he was getting back to his feet, dusting off the dirt and flesh, proud of how quickly they’d handled that. He moved around the Gambit and smirked at what he saw, the giant felled and slumped onto its front, the parasite laying limp across its neck and head. Leon thought of Dave Johnson and hoped the man was smiling down at them from wherever-the-fuck, avenged and at peace. “Whoever sent that to take you guys out obviously thinks you’re getting too close to something big,” Leon said, stepping back and away and turning to face the other two, ready to get moving again. “If we can just—”

Leon was cut off by hands fisting themselves in the front of his jacket. He flinched, bodily, shoulders going up to his ears, eyes wide in shock and fear and dull kind of betrayal as he realized Chris was the one holding him so violently, immobilizing him. Leon’s heart pounded in his chest as Chris got close and slammed Leon into the side of the Gambit, Leon’s teeth clacking painfully in his skull as he failed to register that Chris— Chris was—

_“What the fuck was that, Kennedy?!”_ Chris all but screamed into Leon’s face, those gorgeous brown eyes flaring with a kind of fury Leon had never seen directed at himself before. “I gave you a direct order to fall back to the truck! You could have thrown the whole operation with that stunt!”

Leon shook himself, breathing past the remnants of cigarettes in his memory, and squared his stance, pushing into the grip in his shirt that was constricting his breathing and refusing to back down even as something in his chest shattered. “I was doing what was necessary to take that thing down!” he argued, his voice cracking only once. “You’ve seen me fight those before, you’ve fought them yourself! Get them on their knees and take out the parasite! You don’t have never-ending bullets, Chris, you could’n’t’ve kept firing forever!”

“I am the captain,” Chris growled, his gaze still flashing so deadly. “I have always been the captain. When I give an order, I expect it to be followed!”

“I’m not in your fucking organization!” Leon shot back, getting angrier the more he was faced with this side of Chris that he had _never_ wanted to know. “You have no jurisdiction over me, you have no right to give me orders and I have no obligation to follow them, especially when I know that the order is fucking bullshit!”

Chris’s fists clenched and he pushed Leon even harder into the Gambit. Leon’s instincts were going haywire, half of his mind insisting Chris was safe and always would be safe and the other half begging for Leon to run away. Adam would want Leon to stick up for himself, though, so Leon took Chris’s wrists in his hands and squeezed, not missing the pain that flashed in Chris’s twisted expression. “I’m not your fucking soldier,” Leon spat, barring his teeth, emulating a man and woman he hated because they were the scariest thing he could think of and he wanted Chris to let go of him. “I’m not under your globe. I don’t have to follow a god damn thing you say!”

“You were reckless and you risked the lives of everyone on this assignment! You could have ruined everything!”

“Then I guess we’re just lucky I know what I’m fucking doing and was able to compensate for your stubborn stupidity!”

“As the CO of this operation, I expect my orders to be followed to the letter regardless of who your governing organization may be! By ignoring me, you threaten to put everyone and the world at risk just for the sake of being better than me!”

“The real risk to the world was the slobbering fucking giant, not your fragile ego!”

“Dammit, Leon, _you could have been killed!_”

The anger suddenly made sense in stunning clarity and surround sound. Leon’s grip on Chris’s wrists loosened and he let himself go lax in Chris’s hold, the fight leaving him in a rush, but the anger still there, still brimming beneath the surface because, “You still don’t fucking trust me to handle myself, do you?” Leon shook his head, floored. “To this fucking day, after everything, after all we’ve been through, you’re still underestimating me.”

Chris’s own fury fractured in front of Leon’s eyes and Leon knew he’d gotten it right. Leon felt a little sick as he asked, “When will I ever be good enough for you?”

Chris tore his hands from Leon’s shirt like he’d been burned and Leon was left slumped against the Gambit, staring at Chris, feeling like they were strangers all over again. Three years was a long time, after all. Leon stared at Chris and shoved down the cold that was creeping up his skin. Chris ran a hand over his face. Then he said, “You either follow my orders, or you leave. I can’t deal with your childish rebellion on top of everything else. I won’t put my people’s lives on the line just for the sake of your power trip.”

Leon’s throat closed up. “Yessir,” he said dully. Chris wasn’t even phased. What— what on earth had happened to Chris? Leon moved away from Chris, needing room to breathe, and saw Sheva on her knees beside one of the bodies.

Oh.

In the heat of the moment, in the midst of Leon and Chris’s selfishness, they really had lost sight of the true loss surrounding them. And Sheva Alomar, a damn good soldier, had been forced to listen to a cat fight between two grown men while she looked over the corpses of her fellow men and women and tried to mourn. 

Sheva looked up at Leon, dog tags clutched in her hands. “I can’t find Josh.”

It took Leon a moment to know who Josh was. “Captain Stone isn’t here?”

Behind him, Chris stepped forward. “Sheva, you don’t have to do this,” he told the woman. “You can still back out.”

“What about you?” she asked Chris, brow furrowed. “The both of you.”

Chris hesitated, not meeting Leon’s eyes. “I’ve got a personal stake in this.”

“A _personal stake?_” Sheva repeated incredulously. “Chris, look around! They’re all gone. We should get the hell out of here!”

“I’m here for Chris,” Leon said. “If he’s not leaving, then I’m not leaving.” He didn’t miss the way Chris and Sheva both jolted in stunned silence at Leon’s admittance despite how Chris had just shoved Leon into a truck. Leon didn’t care to explain, though. Chris, at the very least, should understand.

“I’m not here just for the mission,” Chris said, piquing Leon’s interest. He couldn’t stand too close to the man all of a sudden, but he could damn well still care about him.

“What are you talking about?” Sheva asked.

“Share with the class,” Leon chimed in, watching Chris sharply.

Chris looked between the two of them, his expression guarded, particularly from Leon, like he had something he was worried for Leon to find out. Secrecy had never suited Redfield, but it seemed to be his favorite brand. Leon narrowed his eyes. “Keeping secrets only ever got people hurt, Chris.”

That sealed the deal. Chris grimaced. “A while back, I received intel that my old partner was still alive.” Jill Valentine, Jesus Christ. “At first, I didn’t know what to think and I sure as hell didn’t let myself believe it. But when I saw the data file from Delta Team, I knew for sure.” Chris took in a shaking breath. “Jill is still alive.”

So that was why Chris couldn’t look Leon in the eye.

“That woman in the data file?” Sheva demanded, her tone stricken. “Are you even sure it’s the same person?!”

“We were partners,” Chris replied grimly, like being partners with someone was the most sacred of bonds. Leon had a scar across his cheek that said otherwise. “I’m sure.” Chris turned away from Sheva, not looking at Leon again as he strode past, his figure tall and sure as always, but with an added slump of defeat to his skeleton. “I don’t expect either of you to follow me.”

“Wait!” Sheva huffed.

Leon watched Chris go, met Sheva’s eyes, and then shrugged, turning to follow Chris. Sheva seemed most shocked by Leon’s decision to follow Chris than anything else.

“Wait!” she called out again. “You two don’t know the area! You’re not going alone! Chris, Leon, wait!”

Leon glanced ahead to Chris, figuring Chris should make the call. Acting CO, right? He felt bad for the woman, but he knew he didn’t want to be in the path of Chris’s anger again, even if Leon hadn’t been in the wrong. Still— Leon felt bad for Sheva. Losing her team, all of her men, her friends and found family. Now Chris was stomping away, huge and intimidating, and Sheva Alomar was still putting on a brave face. 

“I don’t have much time,” Chris said, heading for a dock Leon hadn’t noticed before in the panic of felling a giant. There was an airboat shoved up the shoreline, meant for swamps and shallow water areas, fast and volatile. “I have to find her.”

“I’m going with you!” Sheva insisted.   
Chris finally stopped in his tracks and turned to face the woman, his expression blatantly hopeful as he looked to Sheva. 

“There are my people that are dying here,” Sheva said, her own expression earnest, and she had a point. Sheva was of the West Africa Branch of the BSAA, set up by Captains John Andrews and Keith Lumley. By all rights, this was Sheva’s home. Like Chris back in Raccoon City, there was a level of responsibility to this for Sheva that Leon had never been able to relate to on any operation. 

“Are you sure about this?” Chris asked her. “A second ago, you were ready to cut and run.” The distrust was overpowering the hope, though, Chris likely afraid to trust someone who could prove to be unreliable.

“I can’t just turn my back and walk away.”

Sheva Alomar had a way with words when it came to Chris Redfield.

“There are no more orders from here on in— it’s just us.”

“We’re partners,” Sheva replied smartly. “To the end.”

Chris was satisfied with her answer. Then he turned to Leon. “And you? You’re really willing to fall back into hell?”

Leon shrugged, genuinely unbothered by the idea in itself. “I’ve been in hell a lot— feels more like home than my apartment.”

His attempt to make a joke fell flat, something somber and old flashing through Chris’s warm eyes. The man had always hoped beyond hope that Leon could live a normal life. Too bad Chris didn’t understand that people like him and Leon couldn’t be normal if they tried. “I’m with you, Chris,” he said. “I’m surprised you think I wouldn’t be.”

“This isn’t just about going into hell, Leon.”

It was about Jill. Lucky for Chris, Leon didn’t hold a grudge. “If Jill really is alive, we owe it to her to bring her back home,” Leon said calmly, not missing the shock in Chris’s gaze. “She’s a good woman. She’s done a lot for this world. She deserves to have people come to her rescue.”

The shock became _pain._ Leon was confused until he realized how that had sounded— Leon was going for Jill because no one had come for Leon. That probably felt like the biggest slap to the face for Chris and Leon felt sorry for him. So Leon took a step closer, ignored the newly ingrained instincts insisting Chris was just as much of a fear as his father, and met Chris’s gaze with his own even determination. “She’s your partner,” Leon said, knowing Chris would see Leon’s reasoning in his eyes. “And you know me, Chris— I’m always looking out for you.”

Chris wet his lips and Leon tracked the movement out of habit. “Why are you here, Leon? Why are you in Africa?”

Leon didn’t give anything away. “The shoe’s on the other foot— I have classified information that I can’t readily hand over, under orders from the President. Just trust me when I say that if it’s important, you’ll know.” Chris visibly didn’t like that, but he didn’t have room to argue and knew it. TRICELL was at large in Africa and Leon wasn’t going to risk the validity of the investigation just for an old flame, even if that flame was Chris Redfield. “I’m not out here for me. I’m out here for you. And by extension, Jill Valentine.” He cut his chin to the airboat. “So what do you say we get moving?”

“I like the sound of that,” Sheva admitted, her voice stronger with purpose. “He has experience, Chris. We can use him.”

Chris flinched at the word. “Leon isn’t something to be used.”

Despite the warmth swelling in Leon’s chest, he rolled his eyes. “You know what she meant,” he chided Chris as he strode past the large man for the airboat. “I call driving this thing.” He swung himself up into the driver’s seat, excitement brimming as he took the controls and switched on the floodlight. The black water was lit up in front of him and he smirked, feeling good about this part, at least. He always loved operating vehicles. 

Chris and Sheva traded a nervous look that Leon didn’t miss. He rolled his eyes again and waved them up. “I promise, the only thing that’ll kill us on this is any B.O.W. they shoved in here with us. Did I ever tell you about Del Lago, Chris? Don’t worry— scary name for what was essentially just an oversized trout. I killed it once, I can kill it again.”

Chris didn’t seem reassured as he let Sheva on first, then climbed up after her. “Just— try not to flip us,” he told Leon, finally someone familiar to him. Leon just gave him a sarcastic little smile and fired up the engine, the huge fan booming to life behind him. 

“Hold on to your skirts,” Leon told the two BSAA operatives sitting on the bench at his feet. “Water’s looking a little rough— here, there be dragons.”

His archaic quip on uncharted waters— Adam was a bit of a cartography nut— fell flat, but Leon didn’t care. He pulled away from the shoreline and kept his eyes peeled for anything unnatural in the waters. And he steadfastly ignored the warmth of Chris’s back against Leon’s leg, telling himself that if Chris and Sheva were partners, then Chris and Leon were officially even less. No point in hoping for something to happen when they’d both agreed nothing ever could. Leon forced down the ache, sent the pain below, and focused on getting the two soldiers to their next destination safely.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /crawls out of my cave
> 
> hey y'all I'm back sorry for the absence had to figure out some life stuff so hopefully we're back on track!!! for those of you still around, I hope you like this ;u;

Regret was a familiar feeling for Chris Redfield, especially at his age, but not— not like this, not Leon, he hadn’t had the right—

Except— yes, he had. Chris had had every right to do that.

Leon had been proving to be a risk to himself and Chris’s partner, the man had faced down a monster while surrounded by corpses that attested to the idea that the giant shouldn’t have been faced alone. It went beyond self preservation and into suicidal decision making territory. It didn’t matter if Leon had the abilities, he hadn’t know what Sheva and Chris were able to do, and acting so irrationally could have gotten Sheva hurt. Any of the giant’s swings could have gone awry, anything could have happened with the parasite inside of the giant. It could have fled its original host and gone to another, it could have gone into a frenzy and decimated everything in sight, it could have been numbed to pain and torn right through the Gambit. Leon had ignored all the possibilities and gone with the Plaga he’d fought before, even though this absolutely wasn’t the same strain. Chris had been justified to get upset because Leon had ignored a direct order and it could have cost them their lives.

But the fear in Leon’s eyes—

Chris had been justified, he’d done the right thing.

But Leon had looked so _small_—

Chris couldn’t play favorites. He was a captain and a leader and he couldn’t give one person special treatment above others. And Leon’s argument that he wasn’t under Chris’s direction was false. Chris was the acting captain of this operation, and Leon naturally fell beneath that role. Like— like a cop naturally answered to an FBI agent.

Chris was going to vomit. The regret was a familiar thing to him, and so was the guilt. The balmy wind of the approaching marshlands whipped at his skin. They’d been skating across the water for hours, the sun rising steadily even though, in Chris’s head, it had just set. Leon was wide awake and sitting tall, Sheva sitting beneath him, telling stories about the team that had called her their little sister. Stories about dead men she’d never seen again. Stories Leon listened to dutifully, asking harmless questions to prove he was paying attention and that he cared. And Chris couldn’t join them, couldn’t listen without feeling like a voyeur. He’d— he’d pushed Leon, he’d made Leon afraid, he could have hurt him—

It had been the right thing no matter how much it destroyed them both. Leon was stubborn. Capable. _Smart._ He, he wouldn’t have listened to a soft request, not from anyone, especially not Chris. They were nothing now, they were nothing. Chris had had to be aggressive, he’d had to scare Leon because that was the only way Leon would’ve listened. Leon wasn’t on a solo op and Chris couldn’t attest to Sheva’s abilities yet. Leon could have gotten her killed and Chris had been in the right. Leon wouldn’t have listened because Leon wasn’t used to listening at all.

That was a lie, that was a lie, Leon always listened to him when he was gentle. All Chris had succeeded in doing was putting Leon on the defensive and proving himself to be the monster the world wanted Chris to turn into.

_He’d done the right thing._

Then why did it hurt so much?

He had to apologize. Somehow. Chris couldn’t afford to apologize for too much, though, he couldn’t show weakness and unsureness and insecurity. He had to be a man who stood by his orders, he couldn’t apologize for too much. But— he could apologize for making Leon afraid. If only to soothe the twisting self-disgust that was burgeoning from the regret and guilt. 

Even with this new resolution to attempt to right wrongs, Chris still felt ill. He wondered if he was getting seasick.

“Josh never really wanted me to break away from Alpha Team,” Sheva was saying, Chris feeling more of that unending guilt for listening at all. Leon had half his attention on the choppy waters, and the other half on Sheva. He was letting the woman grieve in her own personal way and the only reason Chris was grateful Leon was here was so Sheva could find some peace. Everything else though? Leon being here at all, _volunteering._ Bullshit, utter fucking bullshit, and Chris was angry. He was so fucking angry that it was hard to think straight and that was how he’d ended up shoving Leon into a Gambit and screaming in his face. “He and the others, they always said they hated me being away. That teams existed so we could watch each other’s backs. They didn’t like thinking I didn’t have them keeping an eye on me.”

“They were good people,” Leon said, an exterior party looking in, a solo operative being forced to listen to the warmth and comfort that came from being part of a team. But on the same token, being part of a team meant Sheva had had a lot to lose. And she’d lost it all last night. Chris didn’t know which of the two was in the better position. “They’ll be happy to know you made it out.”

Sheva paused. “Do you believe in heaven, Agent Kennedy?”

Leon went quiet and Chris’s curiosity overpowered the guilt. He tried to predict Leon’s answer, and was twin parts vindicated and sorrowful when he guessed correctly as Leon said, “Not at all.”

“Surprising,” Sheva commented. “They say there are no atheists in foxholes, don’t they?”

“I’m not in a foxhole,” Leon replied. “The belief in god comes from the terror in waiting for death. I never wait. I make it face me.”

“So you don’t believe in god either.”

Leon looked vaguely uncomfortable. Chris didn’t understand why until he caught a dart of Leon’s eyes to himself. Leon didn’t know if he wanted Chris to hear this or not. Did he want to save Chris some form of heartache or did he simply not trust Chris anymore to be the one to know? They’d spent hours in that hotel in Spain, pouring over who they were and the things that had made them. Now that open door had been slammed shut and locked tight by them both and Chris was being forced to stared into the oak of the closed door and tell himself it was his fault too. 

“I don’t think I believe in god either,” Sheva said. “But I find myself praying to the gods of the ancient people here. Do you know of the Vodun religion?”

“Not well,” Leon replied truthfully.

“It’s an expansive and beautiful belief system,” Sheva said in soft reverence. “The world is born from the mother, Mawu. She owns all the other gods and loves her world with omni-benevolence. And there is Legba, who allows us to speak with her. Xêbioso, Agbe, Jo. So many more. But the one that I found myself looking to when I was in the foxholes, so to speak, regardless of my lack of true belief, was Ogun.”

Leon hummed thoughtfully, barely audible over the roar of the fan. “He’s the god of masonry and defense, right?”

Sheva turned over her shoulder and gave Leon a kind smile that seemed to shock Leon to his core, though Chris only knew that because of the way Leon sat back like he needed room to think and blinked like he needed to check if what he was seeing was real. Maybe Chris still was able to read Leon easier than breathing. “How did you know?” Sheva asked.

Leon looked uncomfortable again. “Spent a lot of time in the library as a kid.”

Chris wondered if Leon now associated Chris with his father.

“You’re very close,” Sheva said. “He began as a hunter and became a god. A god of metalwork and war. He crafts the weapons and armors that defend and protect and attack. He is war, yes, but not in the same way as Gû. Ogun is the soldier while Gû is the violence. I looked to Ogun for guidance and protection, someone to carry my bullets into my enemies and ensure I make it out alive with my fellow soldiers.” 

Sheva’s gaze became distant as she stared ahead into the waters. “I found myself praying to him before we found Alpha Team dead,” she said. “I asked him to let my family live. He didn’t answer. I’m finding it difficult to consider praying to him ever again.”

Chris watched Leon swallow so thickly that it had to hurt. “For what it’s worth,” Leon said. “It doesn’t get any easier.”

Sheva nodded. “I assumed as much. Otherwise, you’d be the most religiously devout man in the world. Alongside Chris.”

Leon’s blue eyes snapped to Chris and Chris had to look away. Then he cleared his throat and readied himself to be the captain he was meant to be, not the bully. “I shouldn’t have shoved you,” he told Leon, knowing Leon probably knew that better than him. “While I stand by what I said, I have no excuse for the way I treated you. I’m— sorry. For how I reacted towards you. It was wrong of me and I need to be better than that.”

There was quiet, and Chris couldn’t see Leon, he was facing away, but he could see the surprise on Sheva’s face. The quiet seemed to slip deeper into Chris’s skin than the water sprayed about them could. Then, Leon’s voice— “Just couldn’t keep your hands off me, right?”

Chris’s neck hurt from how quickly he whipped around, more shocked by the teasing grin on Leon’s face than he was by the words himself. How—

Who was Leon now?

Back in Spain, Leon had become someone else, someone cold and deadly, efficient and desperate to be at arm’s length from everyone at all times. This Leon now, the Leon smirking at Chris and _teasing_ him was like the Leon Chris had first fallen in love with, young and hopeful and adapting to every situation, smiling easily and bantering. It was like those six years of loneliness had fallen away from Leon and Chris was seeing the same young cop again instead of the violence-hardened special agent. And normally that would be fine, Chris would be happy Leon had improved, but— he’d loved that hardened agent in the same way he’d loved the young cop. And now Chris was missing who Leon had been in Spain.

Distance from Leon wasn’t good for Chris. He was missing too much and mourning the loss even though he was supposed to be detached. And what Chris really wanted to know was _how_ Leon had gotten better. Who had helped him? How was Leon able to smile? And why did Leon get to feel better when Chris couldn’t, not matter how hard he tried? Why didn’t Chris deserve the same amity that Leon had now? Why didn’t Chris deserve to be happy?

How dare Leon tease Chris with what they’d had.

Chris turned away, unable to respond because he knew he wouldn’t like the words that came out of his mouth. Leon thought Chris’s love for him was something to taunt him with. When had Leon become so cruel? And how could Chris have let himself open up and trust someone who had become a stranger all over again? Apologizing was careless, apologizing was a risk. Chris couldn’t bare his chest to Leon ever again or he’d—

Wait, who was saying that in Chris’s head? Himself or his anger? Leon— Leon wasn’t cruel. What was he trying to do? Was he trying to be normal? Or was he— was he trying to give Chris a reason to smile too?

“Chris.”

That voice graced Chris’s awareness and he looked back to Leon, hoping none of his inner turmoil was showing on his face. He knew it was hopeless to hope, though, when he saw the heaviness in Leon’s gaze. Chris itched to inject himself with the morphine and send his heart pounding with the adrenaline, if only to numb himself to everything but the fight. Now Leon looked almost sad, and that was Chris’s fault too.

“What happened to Jill, Chris?”

Chris didn’t know why Leon was asking— judging by the look in his eyes, Leon already knew. Of course he did, Leon was always checking up on him, however illegal the action was. But beside him, that curiosity was back in Sheva’s eyes, and he knew Leon was asking because his partner deserved the explanation. “Three years ago, I was investigating the Spencer mansion with Jill,” he began slowly, forcing himself through the memory that haunted him like a shameful scar. “We were looking for information on Wesker, but found Wesker himself instead. He’d just killed Oswell E. Spencer, founder of Umbrella. The old bastard was dead at Wesker’s feet. We— we fought Wesker. We lost. Wesker was about to tear my heart from my chest, but Jill tackled him and they… they went out a window and over a cliff together.”Chris looked to the water again, needing to think. “BSAA couldn’t find the bodies. They declared her KIA. I— I had to think the same. Until a couple months ago, an anonymous file came across my desk detailing technology in Wesker’s use that could do a lot of damage and was somehow using the Plaga for control, though I don’t understand how. I don’t know who sent it either. I dug deeper. I didn’t find evidence of Jill but the research itself implied healing capabilities that could save someone from fatal injuries. I could only assume Jill was still out there as a test subject.”

“Wait, you— you got that Jill was alive from the report on Wesker’s R&D?” Chris turned to Leon again, saw the stunned look on the young man’s face. “Chris, I had Adam send that to the BSAA as a warning that Wesker was _alive._”

How the fuck— “You sent me that?”  
Leon nodded grimly. “Uh-huh. STRAT is looking more into the global B.O.W. outbreak. Ashley’s kidnapping made the previous President Graham finally understand that the problems of the world are our problems too. A belief that the newly-elected President Benford wholeheartedly agrees with. Analytics and CIA monitor world wide B.O.W. relevant information and that was one of the many things they uncovered. When the report came across my desk, I knew I had to get it into your hands so you’d know Wesker was still out here. Undeniable proof. I didn’t mean— I didn’t think it would give you that kind of idea.”

It hurt to know that Leon never, _ever_ gave up on looking out for him.

“Jill’s alive,” he told Leon firmly. “I saw her picture in the data we took from Irving.”

Leon looked cautious. “Was she alive in the picture?”

Chris’s mouth clacked shut.

“We’re almost there,” Sheva said suddenly, sitting up straighter, her hand straying to her gun at her side. “See those stilt houses? We’re heading into native territory, the Ndipaya. They weren’t always here in the marshlands. They once had land in the along a river channel, but a company came in and took the land out from under them.”

“An unknown corporation,” Leon said darkly, surprising Sheva and Chris again. He met their glances and grimaced. “Long story short while keeping mind of your clearance, the president ordered an investigation into the corporations involved in B.O.W. fabrication and creation and we have reason to believe a certain company I’ve had previous experience with could be involved with the virus here, secretly. It’s why I’m here. Because they’re here. And we don’t like the reasons why they could be.”

“It could be something to do with the expedition that forced the Ndipaya from their original home,” Sheva said. “They had a huge city beneath the ground, years ago. I’ve never seen it, and they spent their lives protecting it until the expedition uncovered it, but I’ve heard rumors. No one knows who led the expedition either.” 

“You know a lot about the natives,” Leon observed.

“It’s my home,” Sheva replied. “Don’t we all know a lot about our homes?”

Chris and Leon traded glances, neither of them speaking up. They’d both had very different childhoods, but the absence of a home was something they had in common. Chris had moved often with his parents, a byproduct of never having enough money and never having anyone to ask for help. And Leon—

God, Leon.

The guilt for slamming Leon into the Gambit resurged, but Chris swallowed it down and told it to wait. He’d have plenty of time to tear himself apart for these things that he had done once Leon was out of here and Jill was safe. Chris was tallying the bodycount in the back of his mind as always. If he really were the best BSAA operative like people called him, then why did he have so many headstones on his conscience? 

“Is that why you joined the BSAA?” Chris asked, needing to think about something else. “To protect your home?”

Sheva looked ahead. “My parents were involved in an accident caused by a pharmaceutical company when I was young.”

Chris hated this song and dance. “Umbrella?” he asked grimly.

“Yes,” she affirmed to no surprise. “I only found out later that the accident was to covering up the manufacturing of biological weapons for terrorists. They were using Africa as a testbed for their experiments. Bioweapons were responsible for the deaths of my parents. And someone has to pay for it!”

“Amen to that,” Leon drawled from above.

“So you joined the BSAA,” Chris continued for her.

“There’s only so much one person can do,” Sheva explained. “Even a superhero like Chris Redfield.”

Leon let out this low chuckle that Chris wasn’t sure he’d ever heard before. He shook his head, avoiding Leon’s gaze. “I’m no superhero. But together— we can end this.”

Sheva turned to face him, her expression earnest and pleading. “Then let’s make a stand for our fallen brothers!”

“Hang on,” Leon warned, gunning the engine and launching their water boat over a fallen raft, the craft flying through the air and landing in the water on the other side of a bank of fauna. Chris caught himself on the edge of the seat and Sheva was knocked into him. They both whipped their heads back to glare at Leon, who shrugged. “I warned you.”

Leon maneuvered the water boat towards a thicker conglomeration of the stilted homes they’d begun to gradually pass, his gaze alert. Sheva stood, a hand on Chris’s shoulder for steadiness as she squinted into the light of the new day. “I think I see people,” she said. “They can be a little defensive when provoked, but as long as we make it obvious we mean no harm, we shouldn’t have any problems.” 

Chris peered ahead as well and didn’t like what he saw. The stilt houses they passed at first were empty and unkept, ragged for even tribe-standards. Upkeep of this kind of living had to be at the forefront of the peoples’ minds— there were holes in the shakes and the walkways were falling apart. Even in the bright light of the new day, the stilt houses were nothing short of foreboding. 

“Bring us there.”

Leon followed Sheva’s direction, steering towards the small, man-made island with torches that spat smoke into the air. A dock met them from the water, and the island itself was “decorated” with pikes in the ground, animal skulls and torches placed atop. Leon brought the boat up alongside the dock and Chris made land first, holding Matilda up for paranoia’s sake. Sheva followed him. “Stay with the boat,” Chris ordered to Leon. He half expected to get an argument, but Leon let out a small grunt of affirmation and stayed put, the motor of the boat thrumming in the lowest setting. 

The sand crunched beneath his feet and he scanned across the floor. More skulls, some supply boxes, an amalgamation of shields and warrior-esque tributes, and—

A dead body on the floor, BDUs, BSAA globe on the shoulder. Chris’s gut sank even as he put his gun away and ran for the corpse, some ignorant part of himself whispering that whoever this man was could still be alive, regardless of the remnants of a fire smoking at the man’s torso. Chris dropped to his knees beside his fallen soldier and put his fingers to the pulse and—

“Dammit.”

Sheva came up behind him. “Is he gone?”

Chris nodded. He sat back, ran his hand over his face, then set about the gruesome task of searching the body. He hadn’t dared to disrespect Sheva’s family in front of her back at Kijuju, but they were in deep water, literally, and a single bullet could save their lives. He found a single clip that he handed back to Sheva and a PDA, still open, and a slate of some sort clutched in his hands. A quick scan of this man’s last written words had him looking up at the door with a scowl. “This was Delta Team’s back up,” he told Sheva as he slid the slate that had a carving of a beast into the back of his waistband. “C’mon.” 

His final bit of search of the island showed him a map with a door depicted across it, likely the door the soldier referred to in the PDA. The door needed something special to open it, an indentation in the center that seemed to be sectioned off into four pieces, like slabs or slates, and the slate he currently carried matched one of the corners. They weren’t getting past this without those last three items and according to the fallen soldier’s PDA, they would find the pieces hidden around the area, likely within the small floating settlements across the marsh. Frustrating, to say the least, and definitely going to slow them down.

Chris cursed under his breath and marched back to the boat, waving for Leon’s attention. “BSAA picked up a beacon just beyond a door a way’s away! It’s locked shut, some kind of mechanism. We need to find three more pieces to open it up or we’re not finding out what’s past this thing.”

Leon groaned audibly, but readjusted in the seat, ready to go. “When are people gonna learn to appreciate the beautiful simplicity of a god damn key?”

“Funny,” Chris said as he clambered back onto the boat, offering Sheva a hand which got him a finely arched brow. “I would’ve thought you would be done with keys after Raccoon City.”

“We never did find that last one,” Leon said, shaking his head. “Too bad. Always wanted to know what was behind door number three.” Iron’s office— Chris was glad Leon hadn’t been anywhere near that man’s stench. Leon revved the engine, the fan roaring back to life. “Which way am I heading?”

“We should split up,” Sheva suggested. “Leon drops us off at a different island. There’s three pieces we need and three of us, if we each get one, we’ll get this done in a third of the time.” At Chris and Leon’s twin looks of trepidation, she sent them an easy smile. “These people aren’t villains, you know. They may have different fashion ideals, but they’re just as civil as you and me.”

“Then what killed that soldier?” Chris asked her.

Sheva sat back, momentarily speechless. Leon sighed heavily enough for Chris to hear. “I second her motion,” he told Chris. “Don’t give me that look.” What look? The look of genuine fucking fear? How could Leon be so fucking careless about human life in general? “We’re on a time crunch. Whatever is happening here is happening faster than we can keep up with. We’ve already lost a lot of people to this and the BSAA is just gonna keep throwing bodies at this until something gives. I’d rather it not be us.”

“The BSAA isn’t so cruel,” Sheva argued.

“Have we heard a word from your handler since we got into Kijuju?” Again, Sheva couldn’t respond. Leon’s expression was cold. “They don’t care about you. I’m sure you’ve had the idea in your head for a long time. No one cares about the boots on the ground. With how public the war on B.O.W.s is, it doesn’t take these organizations long to farm up a new set of fresh eyes that can shoot just as well as you or me. We handle this now and we handle this _fast._” He was looking to Chris as he said this part. “Risks like these are necessary when you’re up against monsters that have nothing to lose.”

Leon was right. God, Chris hated that he was right. “We split up,” he said. “Leon will drop me off at the first island we come across that Sheva thinks will have what we’re looking for. From there, she’ll scout out another island for Leon, and then one for herself. Leon will drop her off, grab his talisman or _whatever_ we’re looking for and pick us up. Got it?”

“Roger that,” Sheva said.

Leon nodded. “You got it, boss.”

Chris faced ahead. “Move out.”

Leon gunned the engine and the boat shot forward. Sheva stood, bracing herself on Chris again, blocking the sun from her face as she searched the waters for their first destination. There were more islands now, most of them just tiny spits of land with winding stilt houses built out like the lines in a circuit board. Leon maneuvered the craft to the closest of the first large collection of shacks, bringing the boat up to the side of a water walkway that was clear of people. “If you see someone, be friendly,” Sheva told him. “These people aren’t savages.”

Leon and Chris traded glances, neither of them having high hopes for any of this. “Tell that to our dead soldier,” Leon reminded Sheva dryly. “Chris?” Chris looked up at his name, looked to Leon with something like anxiousness, though he didn’t know why. The slide of their gazes slotting together made his hands clammy. “Be careful,” Leon said. “I’ll come back for you as soon as I can.”Chris forced a wry smile as he stepped off the water boat and onto the ramp. “Don’t make me wait too long,” he replied dryly. 

“I’ll get you home to daddy for curfew, don’t you worry.”

Chris swallowed down a laugh at Leon’s tasteless humor and told himself he needed to stay focused. He faced the walkways and didn’t let himself think, keeping his gun up and raised at his side. He peered down the different directions the walkways stretched, not seeing a lot of movement and knowing that didn’t mean a damn thing. The roar of the water boat revved away into the distance and he silently told himself Sheva and Leon would be fine. They’d meet back up and find Irving and Jill and whatever else went with that. The more Chris thought about it, the more he realized having two seasoned agents was a blessing, one Chris couldn’t deny. Even if he hated having Leon here for more than just one reason, having someone as skilled as Leon would definitely come in handy.

The wood creaked beneath his feet and he distantly wondered how long this wood could hold its shape before it would sink into the marshes beneath them. The huts surrounding were quiet, seemingly empty in a way that made Chris nervous. He grit his teeth and flexed his grip on Matilda. She didn’t seem to give him the same measure of comfort when his mind knew Leon was so close by. Like an addiction, it was a decent substitute until the true drug was in front of him. Still— she fired reliably and as long as he didn’t fuck it up, he’d live.

He crept forward, eyes and ears open and ready, and found himself holding his breath. It really was quiet. Terrifyingly quiet. Even the water seemed muted beneath his feet. His heartbeat hammered in his throat and he found his gaze flitting about erratically, seeing threats where there were none, power lines looking like skeletal monsters heaving from the waves, shadows like bulking beasts, pots like hunched undead. Something was coming, he knew it, _something was coming._ The hair on his arms stood on edge. He considered a shot of adrenaline just to get his mind back in one piece. He still wasn’t breathing, still listening sharply because his life depending on it. Spots flashed in his vision and he felt dizzy.

Suddenly, gray bodies burst from the waters beneath, men with their skin unnaturally desaturated, contrasting with the bright red of their eyes and the blood lingering in the corners of their mouths. They were leaves as clothes and brandished archaic spears and tribal shields that looked like mocking, hunted faces. 

The Ndipaya— Plaga infested.

“How could someone do this to them?” Chris murmured just as he aimed his first shot and slammed a merciless bullet between the teeth of the first infected to come for him. They were dripping with water, bodies exposed if they didn’t have shields. They seemed naked and unprotected in a way the infected at Kijuju had failed to appear. Simple people remaining loyal to tradition and history, reduced to this. 

Chris grit his teeth and reminded himself he hated the people fucking with the viruses for a damn good reason as he carefully stayed back, letting the infected come to him. The walkways were narrow and funneled his enemies towards him. So long as he kept his head on straight, he’d make his shots and keep advancing at a steady pace. And even for the latent fear he felt when seeing the red against the gray, he knew this was something Leon and Sheva could handle without him. They just needed the slates and then they’d be that much closer to destroying the people who had ruined this peaceful, noble tribe. That anger was emerging, boiling beneath his skin as he was forced to put bullet after bullet into the indigenous people. There was more going on here than just the viruses— if the infection had spread through everyone here, Chris knew the entire tribe was wiped out. This was more than an infection, this was the death of culture and Chris _hated._

He pushed through the small area in front of him, keeping his attention up and above and ignoring the sounds these men made as they were killed. There didn’t seem to be any women or children, though Chris distinctly remembered the absence of children back in Spain, so that level of unknown wasn’t surprising. He was sure an undeveloped human body couldn’t accommodate the strain of the Plaga. It was the absence of women that surprised him. He almost wanted to ask Sheva if there was a cultural reason behind the absence, or if the fuckers that had infected these people had taken the women for some nefarious purpose. 

Body after body dropped before him, signing his sentence in hell. Chris went through the first three houses and found a small amount of ammo, which supported his theory behind intentional infection and not just an accident of infested water. It was likely that the Ndipaya had been infected first and the parasite spread from here to beyond. He began a search of the last house, dropping to the side as an infected jumped from the rough. He spun quickly and slammed bullets relentlessly into the spine and—

Remembered how Leon had been infected. How Chris had been so close to having to put Leon down had Ada not directed them to the chair that pulled the parasite from his body. Leon could’ve been one of these things if they’d only been delayed by an hour. Chris felt sick all over again and thanked whatever god there was that Leon hadn’t been taken from him back then. He hoped that Leon was doing just as perfectly well as always wherever he was. And he hoped Sheva was able to do what had to be done and put the infected down.

The slate was in the back corner in a small chest of the furthest house. He fired shots into the Ndipaya that flooded the house with him and opened the chest with one hand, grabbing the slate and tucking it beneath his arm against his side, craning his neck so he could get his sights lined up. The stolen moment to grab the artifact gave the infected time to swarm, Chris being forced to duck low to avoid clawing hands and spears tossed wildly into the wall behind him. Chris came back up and cursed, pulling out the MP5 as he realized he was going to be overwhelmed. 

The spray of bullets held back the worst of it, but he mentally counted down what he had left with each squeeze of the trigger and tried not to let the panic set in. Panic brought mistakes, and mistakes brought death, he couldn’t afford to lose focus and lose his control and lose count. The number of clips he had left against his side were minuscule compared to what he needed. He didn’t know when Leon and Sheva would be back, nor did he know if he could make it to the walkway to get out. More and more infected piled into the room and he was starting to shake. Keep firing, don’t stop, if he let up he’d be drowned in them. His breath came in short bursts and the heavy fire of his gun made it too hot. Sweat beaded on his brow and the awful, bloody smiles of the infected Ndipaya made his heart stutter. 

There was only a single exit, and at least five of these things between him and the way out. He didn’t have the firepower to break through the wave of infected and his back was against the wall, two windows behind him and no way to know how deep the water was or what could be in the depths.

The roar of the fan engine directly behind him broke through his wavering control and he decided to abandon sense entirely, betting on dumb luck. Chris fell back and braced himself on the wind to the right, leaping over and letting himself drop, squeezing his eyes shut so he wouldn’t see if he hit land or water until it happened. Instead of either, his boots hit metal and he went down on his knees hard, biting his cheek. “Jesus!” Leon shouted in surprised, momentum continuing the boat in a sharp turn around the corner of the collection of huts, Chris falling forward and barely catching himself on the base of the boat. “A little warning next time, Redfield!”

“Where’s Sheva?” Chris demanded as Leon corrected the direction of the boat easily, heading back into open water. 

“Where I left her,” Leon replied, focusing straight ahead. Chris looked forward as well and saw they were now heading for a narrow, man-made canyon, tall pikes creating a fence like a funnel. “She’s down this way!”

“Did you get your slate?”Leon smirked and held up his own slate looking like a raptor with a glint in his eyes. “You know this isn’t my first rodeo, Redfield.”

“We need to get Sheva and get after Irving,” Chris said as he held to the boat while Leon took the tight corners expertly. “Once we find out what he’s planning with Ouroboros and with who, we can call in to HQ and see if they’ve found anything new in their investigation and jesus, Leon, what taught you to drive?”

“All that PD car chase training really came in handy,” Leon replied with that sharp smirk in Chris’s direction. “Or am I not impressing you yet, Sir?”

Chris looked to Leon with a sharp question in his eyes, wondering where exactly Leon got off calling him that. Leon didn’t even falter, only smirked even wider and pushed the boat faster, practically skipping across the water and never once being fazed by the speed or steering. Maybe this was what Chris got for underestimating Leon in perpetuity. Even if it was a joke, right back where he started.

“Up ahead,” Leon suddenly said, jerking his chin forward to a collection of four huts at the end of a wooden walkway and— “Oh shit.” — countless infected leaping from the water and overloading the entire structure. Even from here, Chris could hear the creak of the wood protesting the weight. He stood and looked around in a panic, trying to see Sheva somewhere amongst the masses. “Where is she?”

Chris couldn’t see. There were so many, so fucking many. For a moment, his heart stopped, then resurged in a painful, terrified rhythm. He couldn’t see Sheva, he couldn’t see anything but the monsters, she was nowhere, she was gone, oh god, how could Chris have done this? How could he have agreed to separate? Sheva had never fought the Plaga, not alone, she was good, but not good enough yet, she was gone, she was dead, Chris had gotten her killed, _Chris had killed yet another soldier,_ he had lost her, she was gone, Sheva—

He saw a flash of dark skin compared to the pale while of the infected and went ramrod straight. “There!” he shouted, pointing into the thick of it, where heads were dropping like bodies were being knocked aside. Sheva was running for them and they needed to be within range of her, but out of range of these infected because god knew it would only take a few of them to sink this boat and their only way of escape with it. Chris, terrified she’d be overwhelmed, ran to the edge of the boat and whipped his gun to fire into the monsters closest to him, pity for the infected natives gone in the face of keeping his partner alive. “Leon, turn this thing around!”

“Copy that,” Leon replied tightly as he revved the engine and skated across the water in a smooth circle, getting the right side of the boat close to where the walkway ended. “Hold on!” The engine roared to life as Leon accelerated, the wind rushing past them as he sped forward. 

Chris saw Sheva break through the horde and saw her spot them and saw the moment she understood. He reached out, a useless hand in the air, needing to do something as he started shaking with the fear of losing another man. 

The brave soldier didn’t falter once— she ran forward, jumped off the walkway with a flying leap, and trusting them. Perfectly timed, she hit the far left edge of the boat. Momentum carried her and she nearly dropped off the boat entirely, but as Chris remembered Kirk, remembered the sinking realization that he couldn’t save the pilot, Chris recognized he could save Sheva and reacted quickly, darting forward, grabbing her by the back of the shirt while holding to the edge of Leon’s seat, then yanking her back into him and letting his weight bring them both solidly to the floor of the boat. Leon ducked as a spear flew overhead, grabbing Chris by the ankle and staying low as he sped the boat as far away from those fuckers as he could. 

“Perfect score from the judges,” Leon told them as he sat up and shot through the narrow tunnel again, avoiding infected Ndipaya that suddenly stood in the water, waiting for them. “Chris, where the hell am I going!”

“Out and to the left!” Chris shouted back, wavering to his feet, trusting Leon to get them there safely. “Sheva,” he said, a hand resting on her shoulder, looking the woman over for injuries, unable to smother the fear. “You okay? Are you hurt?”

“Fantastic!” she gushed. “I didn’t think I’d make it out of there until I heard you.”

“Maybe that god of yours isn’t too far behind us,” Chris told her with a relieved grin and a gust of a sigh, squeezing her shoulder. Sheva leaned into his touch, but looked concerned.

“Chris, are you alright?” she asked. “You seem pale.”

Chris shook his head, then shook himself. He could hear his pulse drumming in his ear and felt lightheaded. Kirk’s cry as he plummeted to the ground and to death was suddenly ringing in his memories and he thought of Parker, back on the Zenobia, and Jill three years ago. Too many good men sent to far too many deadly places. Chris didn’t think he could keep losing people like this. His heart couldn’t fucking take it. “I’m fine,” he said, confident she’d believe the lie. But Leon—

Chris glanced over his shoulder and saw the way Leon was looking at him. It was alarmingly similar to the way he’d looked at Chris back in the castle in Spain, when the crows had startled Chris and he’d remembered the smell of Forest Speyer’s blood. Leon knew something was wrong and he probably had a pretty good idea. There was no other explanation for the dread and concern on Leon’s face. Chris tore their gazes apart and stood, struggling to balance on the fast-moving boat now that Leon was back in the seat and focused on getting them out of the swamp. “I’m fine,” he said again. “Let’s get moving— we can’t let Irving get too far away.”

“We get past that door and then what?” Sheva asked. “Do we know where he’s going beyond the marshes?”

“I have a feeling it won’t be hard to figure out,” Chris huffed. “For an virus peddler, he isn’t exactly good at keeping quiet. We’ll be able to find him and put an end to this.”

“We’ll avenge the Ndipaya,” Sheva agreed solemnly. “What they did here was _wrong._ These people were peaceful and driven from their homes. They didn’t deserve any of this.”

“The infected rarely do,” Leon added.

“But this is more than that,” Sheva told Leon. “This is more than just the innocent being harmed and the loss of life— this is the extermination of an entire culture. The Ndipaya have been wiped out. What little we know about their way of life is all we will ever known. This was a genocide.” 

“That’s a little strong,” Leon hedged carefully, but he dropped his argument when Sheva glared. “Don’t look at me like that,” he sighed as the boat turned harshly and Leon accelerated around a corner, the last corner of the long, narrow waters. “All I’m trying to say is that the dead are dead and victims are victims. No life is more important than the other and nothing is more important than life.”

“Maybe that’s how you see it,” Sheva said grimly. “But all I know is that this country will be emptier for what it has lost. The heart of who we were was found in the Ndipaya. And they’re dead. How long before we’re dead as well from the same viruses?”

“That’s not gonna happen,” Chris interrupted too harshly, the panic tightening his throat again at the thought of Sheva dying, at the thought of anyone else dying. When her sharp eyes went to him, he lost his words. “That’s not— that’s not happening.”

“Sure, Chris,” Sheva said like she meant to placate him, the fight gone in the face of whatever she saw in him. “How much further, Agent Kennedy?”

Chris looked back in time to see the face Leon made at the title. “According to Chris, the door’s just up ahead. We should be there any second now. From there, I’m not sure what. Find Irving, right?”

“That’s our mission,” Chris said with a nod. Then, “Leon— you don’t have to do this.”

“Shut up,” Leon drawled. “I came to you of my own volition. I’m in Africa as part of an investigation, under direct orders from the president. I’m not here because of you, Chris, I’m here because I figured BSAA could use my help after they so kindly offered their services for my investigation beforehand.” Those blue eyes landed on Chris, boring through him. “It’s not your fault— I’m here because I want to be.”

Somehow, that only made Chris feel worse.

“We appreciate your help for as long as we can have it,” Sheva said. “Can I ask what you’re investigating? You mentioned a corporation but with everything that’s happening, I’d like to know more.”

“You can,” Leon said. “But I can’t necessarily tell you.”

Chris looked back at Leon shrewdly. “Keeping secrets? I thought you hated that.”

“Wouldn’t you know?” Leon shot back. “It’s need to know, I told you. I can’t give you the information unless it’s pertinent to the situation and our safety.” He glanced to Chris. “Sound familiar?”

Chris steeled his jaw. Sheva was here, she didn’t know their history, but— “Ada Wong’s whereabouts were a need to know basis.”

“As is my investigation,” Leon replied cooly. “So when you need to know, you will. Simple as that, _Sir._”

Chris snapped. “Stop calling me that.”

Leon smirked and didn’t respond. He pulled back on the brake of the boat and the craft came to a smooth stop, Chris looking forward again to see they’d reached the island. He stood, checking Sheva over for injuries one last time as she stood with him, and then readied his MP5, wanting the comfort of the wild gunfire as he stared down the huge door in front of them. “Everyone got their pieces of the puzzle?”

“Right here,” Sheva said, holding up her slate. Leon stepped gracefully from the boat onto the sand and held up his slate as well. Chris pulled the last two from the back of his pants, grateful to no longer have the discomfort of the metal wedged against his body. 

“Let’s do this,” he said, striding to the door with his pieces in his hands. He heard Leon and Sheva reload in unison behind him. Chris went to the door and slotted in his two pieces first, taking a step back once they were in place to let Sheva put hers into place, and lastly Leon. Leon, though, didn’t insert the slate right away. He looked the door up and down, scrutinizing it. Chris frowned. “Something wrong?”

“This is pretty high tech for for and native tribe of Africa,” Leon said. “We know that the Ndipaya was driven out by an exterior force, manmade, definitely. We can assume the Ndipaya didn’t leave of their own volition, but something this advanced? A locking mechanism. Maybe they were accepting aid from the people that threw them out.”

“We don’t know who drove them out of their lands,” Sheva said. “Unless we’re already coming across one of your need to knows?”

“Let’s just say I already have a hunch on who ran the Ndipaya away,” Leon replied cryptically. “And it explains why the Ndipaya have something this complex acting as a gate into said protected lands.” He looked to Sheva. “After all, that is the direction we’re heading, right?”Sheva nodded, visibly thinking. “If the people who were behind their displacement are still at large and the infections seems to be spreading outwards from the Ndipaya lands, then it’s safe to assume the infection originated further into sacred territory.” She looked to Chris with huge, stricken eyes. “This is worse than we thought.”

Chris grimaced and could only jerk his head forward, prompting Leon to step up and slide his slate into place. A mechanism turned out of view and the doors unlocked, Leon pushing them open before Chris could say otherwise. Momentary panic slid through Chris at the idea of someone waiting for them behind the door and slitting Leon’s throat or staking him in the heart or gutting him with—

“Clear,” Leon said, glancing around the jungle revealed to them with sharp eyes. He then took a step back, submitting to Chris’s hierarchy. Relief slinked into Chris’s stomach as he moved up and took the lead, leading the other two into the new area. 

They were quiet, observing, staying vigilante as they jumped from the platform into muddy waters, a channel that Chris decided to follow, as the thick underbrush of the jungle could spell their deaths. He glanced back to make sure Sheva and Leon were still with him and saw the disgusted look on Leon’s face, the agent taking up the rear. They met eyes and Leon made an even more exaggerated expression, tugging at the chest of his shirt to show how it was sticking to him almost uncomfortably. Chris didn’t know what the STRAT uniform was, but it definitely seemed more functional for movement and not weather. Chris hid his smile and looked ahead again, reminding himself that he and Leon weren’t friends.

He led them through the channel into a huge village that seemed like something out of an Indian Jones film. Handmade shacks build of reeds and palm branches were scattered about a flat area with dirt floors, the buildings varying in sizes with pots inside many of them, signs of civilization. An initial, silent sweep revealed no one was in the village as far as they could tell, which instantly had Chris on edge. There was a fire still burning in the center of the village, the likelihood of it being truly unpopulated was close to none. “Feels like an ambush,” he murmured back to his partner and Leon, knowing they had to feel the same. 

“Look,” Sheva said, pointing ahead. “That bridge is up. It looks like our only way through.” It was also out in the open with large walls surrounding— anyone crossing the bridge would be a sitting duck. Chris felt fear rush through him at the idea of Sheva or Leon crossing that bridge and being skewered.

“There’s a crank up there,” Leon added. “See? Up on that platform to the right of the bridge.”

“Is there a way to get the others if someone crosses or do we have to hold the crank up the whole time?” Chris asked.

“Only one way to find out.” Sheva looked between the two men, her gaze determined. “I’ll cross the bridge. One of you cover me while the other pulls the crank.”  
“Chris benchpresses semi trucks for fun.” Leon grinned lazily at Chris. “You take the crank. I’m a better shot.”

“Literally no one has ever said you’re a better shot, ever.” But it was about as solid of a plan as they could get. Sheva was lighter and faster, Leon was a demon with just about any weapon in his hands, and Chris had the most brute strength in him. He just didn’t want to split up again. “If it gets bad out there, Sheva, get in the water. We can find another way through if push comes to shove.”  
“I can handle this,” Sheva said firmly. “You just get that bridge down and make sure I don’t end up shish-kabobed.” She sent them both an easy smile and Chris forced himself to acknowledge that she was a soldier just as much as him. “I’ll see you on the other side, boys,” Sheva quipped before darting away, running for the bridge. And just as she was out of sight, disappearing between shacks, a war cry rang through the village and the Ndipaya began their attack, leaping from above, over the walls and landing with the grace of predators ready for a hunt.

“You heard the lady,” Leon said, unperturbed by the ambush and bringing Rot up with a gleam in his eye. “Get that crank— I’ll cover you both.”

Chris had no other choice but to go with the plan. He gave Leon one last look, his mind wanting to commit to memory, and then ran forward, slowing only to lay shots into the advancing infected. The crank was high above, overlooking the entire village. He could hear two volleys of gunfire that weren’t from him as he ducked out of reach of a spear and ran up a walkway that switchbacked up the back of the village. 

An infected dropped in front of his path, a huge thing that had once been a man with a lion tribal mask covering his face. Chris reared back, firing Matilda on instinct more than anything, staring up at this giant of a man and wondering just what the fuck this new breed of Plaga did to a person. He laid bullets into the infected that Chris dared to consider may have been a warrior or chief of some kind, but the bullets barely did a thing. Like a criminal on psychoactive drugs, the infected kept charing him, swinging its spear and forcing Chris to drop to his knees every time to avoid getting his skull knocked open. 

_“Chris, I need this bridge down!”_

Sheva’s voice echoed in his ear, the woman strained and gunshots echoing. Chris grit his teeth and threw up his shoulder, running into the chieftain infected and shoving it onto its back through sheer force. As Chris barreled into the thing, he brought the shotgun around and stood above the fallen infected, spraying shrapnel into it, cocking the shotgun over and over and over and filling the chieftain with holes. The chieftain thrashed beneath him, unable to stand under the volley of shells, and died there, the parasite screaming within. 

_“Chris!”_

Chris abandoned the body and ran up the last winding path, sprinting for the crank that was beside a set of doors and skidding across the dirt as he caught the handle and turned the crank as quickly as he could. He looked down and saw the village swarmed with infected, Sheva standing at the foot of the bridge, her face stricken as she struggled to stand her ground. 

The bridge began to lower and Chris felt the look of gratitude she sent his way in his bones. The bridge made a loud noise as it dropped and the two ends slotted together. Sheva ran across, eyes ahead to make sure there was nothing on the other side. One of the Ndipaya tried to follow her, but a bullet slammed into the skull from somewhere Chris couldn’t see and the infected dropped with the Plaga writhing where its head had once been. Fuck, maybe Leon really was a better shot. 

_“I’m on the other side!”_ Sheva called out. _“Get Leon up there! I found a door!”_

“Leon!” Chris shouted into the village at the top of his lungs, eyes searching for that smatter of blond hair desperately. He could only see the infected and they gray, dead skin, the red eyes and the snapping teeth, he could only hear the screams, he couldn’t even hear Leon’s gunfire anymore. _“Leon!”_

“On you!”

Chris felt like he’d been thrown into a vat of ice water at the words even as relief swam through him when Leon came into sight, something tucked beneath his arm. Leon ran up the switchbacks to Chris’s side just as Sheva pulled the bar holding the door behind him shut. The blond rushed past Chris, barely giving him a glance, as he helped Sheva opened the doors. When Chris failed to move, still stunned by the words he’d heard, Leon cursed openly and grabbed Chris by the back of the shirt yanking him with them. “You can’t check out on us, Redfield!” Leon warned, his blue eyes flashing with something like dismay. Chris nodded and ducked down after them, the three turning and shutting the door behind them, Chris lifted the bar to jam the door shut once more. On the other side, the Ndipaya howled their fury but couldn’t pursue them. 

“Thank god,” Sheva panted. “That could’ve gone better.”

“Why didn’t you answer?” Chris demanded of Leon, suddenly able to think clearly. “I called out to you and you didn’t answer. What were you doing?”

Leon grimaced and pulled a book out from between his left arm and side. “Found this,” he said. “It’s a journal belonging to one of the kids of the tribe.” Sheva made a noise of question and Leon’s grimace became a wince. “It’s not pretty from the looks of it.”

“Does it tell us what happened here?” Sheva asked, to which Leon just wordlessly handed her the book.

As Sheva leafed through the pages, Leon set his jaw and turned to Chris to give him the long and short of it. “The so-called foreman from the oil plant came into the village talking about inoculating everyone against an unnamed disease. Apparently the Ndipaya thought they were being offered the help because the oil company felt guilty about taking their land decades ago. The village was inoculated on April eighth.”Chris felt cold all over again. “It wasn’t an inoculation.”

“When is it ever?” Leon asked, looking tired. “The next day, apparently all of the children had come down with some sort of fever and died by morning.”

Chris took a step back, running a hand over his face. He looked back to the village, the tall walls holding the infected within. Maybe Sheva had been right. Maybe this really had been an extermination. 

“When the chief went back to the oil rig for answers, they told him that the children had died from the disease and that the village needed more shots, “ Leon continued solemnly. “By April tenth, the women are practically comatose and the men are constantly fighting. The kid talked about feeling like there was… something move around inside of him.” 

Leon seemed to clam up then, undeniably remembering the sensation himself. Chris watched Leon’s hand go to the back of his neck and wondered if Leon even knew what he was doing. Those blue eyes were suddenly very far away. Chris took a step forward, reaching out but not actually touching. “Leon,” he called out gently, knowing he needed to be careful. “Was there anything else?”

Leon’s eyes snapped back to the present and to Chris and he shook his head. “Not really. The only strange thing was how the Plaga injection made the men seem to wear their tribal clothing. Believe it or not, the Ndipaya didn’t always run around in leaves.”

“The garb all of the infected are wearing are meant for festivals and religious ceremonies,” Sheva informed them from where her nose was buried in the book. “What’s even more strange is this journal describes that the men would fight each other.” She looked up at them, the Plaga experts, her brow furrowed as she asked, “Why would they do that?”

“The Plaga is the more intelligent of the viruses and parasites, but it needs a queen bee to give orders,” Leon explained to her. “Without a master cracking the whip, the violent tendencies can manifest in self destructive ways. The Plaga makes you hungry for blood— it gives you a thirst for violence. If you don’t have someone telling you who’s safe for you to kill, then you go after whoever’s closest.”

“So this poor child just watched their people tear each other apart.” Sheva mournfully looked to the book in her hands. “The poor thing. Must have been so afraid.” She flipped a page. “The last entry describes a fever and their head hurting and… seeing a tall man outside their window. Who could that be?”Leon and Chris looked to each other for answers and both were at a loss. “Could be anyone,” Chris said. “Except Irving, we haven’t seen the masterminds behind this all.”

Sheva seemed like she barely heard him. Her eyes were glued to the page, the last words from the look of it. Chris stepped forward to see what the words could be.

_Screams… stop… _

_Looks fun… _

_Want to… kill…_

Chris looked away, looked to Leon. He remembered back in Spain, when he’d first seen the evidence of Leon’s infection. The younger man had pinned Chris to the wall with a knife to his throat, eyes glowing red. If anyone understood the horrible narration in the journal, it was Leon. Chris almost hoped Leon hadn’t gotten to the end of the book. 

“We have to keep going,” Chris told Sheva. “Irving needs to be held responsible for what he’s done.”Sheva nodded, her expression agonized but determined. She tucked the small book away, slipping it into the back of her pants. Normally Chris would argue it was impractical to carry anything along that wasn’t ammo or weaponry, but— the Ndipaya were _gone._ The world had a habit of burning everything the viruses touched. If one thing needed to survive this apocalypse, the words of the last of the Ndipaya were worthier than anything else. “Let’s go,” Sheva said. “This way.” She cut her chin up above, the levels that went higher, a gondola swinging overhead from ropes that stretched beyond the village bounds. “The journal talked about that. It’ll take us across the swamp.”

“Handy,” Leon drawled. He went to a nearby ladder on the other side of the small room that door had brought them into, climbing up before Chris could argue he should be the one to go first. Sheva followed Leon, and Chris followed her, his nerves on alert with the Ndipaya still screaming beyond the walls. Above, the walkways criss crossed over the area, clinging to high cliff walls, overlooking the savagery below. Chris almost wished he’d been able to see this village when it had been thriving and peaceful and not a blood bath. “Stay quiet,” Leon whispered back to them, crouching low. “If they see us, they could try to burn this all down.”

Chris and Sheva followed Leon’s example, mimicking his crouch and trailing him over the bridges and walkways. The gondola was just ahead and Leon reached it first, stepping inside and glancing quickly over the controls. Sheva went in and aimed her sights on the throngs of infected below just in case. Chris came in last, eyeing the rickety structure, the bones decorating the sides and the thatch roof. “Does STRAT teach African construction platform mechanisms to every agent or are you just special?”

“I read,” Leon replied dryly. “You should give it a try.” The gondola jolted and then swayed to life, creeping along the ropes, bringing them over the mob below and beyond. Chris watched the village shrink away with a sense of sadness for what had been lost to the Plaga. The air was colder this high up, but he appreciated the moment to just breathe and try to shake off the panic. He thought of the adrenaline shots on his side, in his pockets, and wondered if it would be safe to take one, at least to calm the shakes. 

“This will take us to the oil field,” Sheva told them, looking ahead to where the jungle tapered off into wetlands again. “To Irving.”

Leon glanced at her and then at Chris. “Is that what this is?” he asked. “You haven’t spoken to your handler once. Are you off the grid on some revenge trip?”

“You know why I’m here,” Chris replied stiffly.

“For Jill Valentine,” Leon said. “But for Irving too. And whoever else is behind this.” Leon looked out to where Sheva was facing. “I’m just trying to figure out how deep this goes. It’s all pointing to more than just some virus peddler.”

“He’s right,” Sheva agreed. “Irving didn’t strike me as the smartest guy. And his partner…”“Partner?” Leon repeated. “He had a partner?” Leon looked to Chris again. “Was someone gonna tell me about that?”

Chris leveled Leon, expressionless. “You’re not BSAA, remember? We can’t just trade secrets.” Leon scowled and Chris distantly felt like shit for it, but— “I’d been hoping to keep you out of this,” Chris admitted. “I never want you involved in these places.” He took in a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” Leon blinked, dropping the aggression, stunned by the apology all over again. “Irving had a partner, a figured with a mask that looked like a crow’s. The voice sounded female. That’s all I know.” He had a hunch, but god, it was too early for anything to be assumed.

Leon nodded slowly as he digested this. “So there really is something a lot bigger going on here. Why am I not surprised.”

“You’ve done this enough,” Chris replied. “Over a decade. Nothing gets to any of us anymore.”

“So you both really have been fighting for quite a while.” Sheva’s voice was soft, contemplative, her eyes darting between them. “Together?”

“Hardly,” Leon said before Chris could echo the same. “We have the worst timing.”

Leon hadn’t given much away, but Sheva’s eyes lit up like a lightbulb all the same. Outside the tiny gondola, it began to rain. “We’re coming up on another village,” she said instead of telling them whatever was on her mind. “We should be ready. Any signs of population could mean more of a fight.”

Chris and Leon both nodded, flexing their grips on their respective weapons. Chris’s eyes went to his gun in Leon’s hands, to Rot, the morbidly named Samurai Edge Chris still thought about every so often. Matilda in his own hands felt suddenly small even though she’d never felt that way before. Chris wondered why he’d never given Leon back his gun after Spain, or vice versa.

The gondola came to a jarring stop, the bottom hitting the edge of the tower structure the line fed into. Chris went out first, sights up, not seeing many infected, same as last time. But he heard a distant shout from across the upper level and he moved swiftly to the open balcony that overlooked water beneath. Sheva and Leon came up behind him, arriving just in time for all three of them to witness a crocodile bursting from the water to snap its huge jaws around what had once been a BSAA soldier, hung from a line like bait, three Ndipaya rejoicing as the crocodile carried the corpse into the depths.

“Jesus,” Leon spat, audibly disgusted. “I fucking hate alligators.”

“Crocs,” Sheva corrected softly, subdued for watching the horrified abuse of the bodies of one of her fellow soldiers. The Ndipaya were throwing their heads back and roaring their delight, waving their arms about like their favorite team had won the Super Bowl. “They’re crocodiles. It’s just an animal. It can’t be blamed for being hungry.” Sheva’s eyes went to the infected Ndipaya. “But them…”

“Either of you got a rifle tucked away somewhere special?” Leon asked. He was watching the Ndipaya with open contempt. Leon was one of the smartest B.O.W. killers Chris had ever known simply because he was able to draw suck a stark line between human and infected— once the virus was in someone or something, he no longer saw them as anything more than a target. “I think it’d be pretty therapeutic to see a few heads roll.”

“The way forward is that cave,” Sheva said, pointing ahead, past the water and the walkways that led into a black maw in the mountain ahead. “After that, I’m pretty much in the dark on where we go. The extent of our knowledge of this area is shotty at best. And since I have no idea what will be coming, I…” She wet her lips, brow furrowed. “I think it would be best if we tried to sneak past these people.”

“You really think we can?” Chris peered down over the ledge, knowing the shadows and the heavy rain would keep him from the infected’s sights for now. “The water is too deep and the bridge across that leads to the cave is pretty much in the open.”

“But there’s a way to bring the bridge up on the other side,” Sheva said. “We run across and break the bridge— unless they want to be a croc’s dinner, they won’t pursue us. They _can’t_ pursue us.”

Leon shrugged. “Seems a good of an idea as any. Just a dead sprint past them if they catch us, get to the other side, and cut off the way after us.” Leon looked to Chris. “Like the castle. In Spain.”

Chris’s breath caught. He suddenly heard the empty click of Leon’s gun in his face. “Yeah. Sure.”

Leon turned Rot over in his hands, checking the slide and popping the clip to count the bullets he had. “I’ll go first,” he said, glaring at Chris and Sheva before they could argue. “I’m stealthier than the two of you, I’ve got half the gear and lighter feet. If I can get across first, I can already be halfway to breaking the bridge. All you two need to do is keep up.” He waited for a second, a breather. “Think you can handle that?”

“Don’t you dare get yourself shot,” Chris warned. 

“You got it, Boss,” Leon said with the barest roll of his eyes. “Miss Alomar?”

“I’m right behind you,” Sheva said.

“Good.” Leon took a step back, heading for the ladder that would bring them below. “If I get skewered or that croc gets revenge for his gator brethren, you keep going, got it? Don’t look back.” Then Leon dropped down, ignoring the ladder entirely, not giving Chris time to tell him to fuck off. If Leon got hurt, Chris was going back for Leon whether Leon liked it or not. 

Sheva followed Leon immediately, swinging down just as gracefully, but Chris took the ladder because he knew his muscle mass alone would be twice as loud as the other two even with the cover of the rain. From the rear, he had a perfect view of Leon and Sheva crouching low and the area beyond them, the twisting walkways of wood above the green waters, the sound of crocodiles swimming lazily beneath, and the orange glow of the fires surrounding, lighting up this small village. 

The Ndipaya were still braying like wild men, celebrating the disgraceful burial they’d given the soldier. Despite himself and the pity Chris had felt before, as he followed Sheva and Leon, he felt something like hate swimming in his gut for the Ndipaya. It was hard to disconnect the actions of a human from a parasite, especially when they both still sounded like a man. Kirk and all of Alpha and Delta team, Sheva’s and Chris’s families— as far as Chris knew, the Ndipaya were victims, but they were still the ones swinging bodies from rope and playing fish with crocodiles using corpses. 

Leon suddenly stopped, Sheva doing the same, and Chris barely stopped himself from knocking into her. The rain was making the world darker and he had to blink rapidly to clear his vision to see Leon hold his hand in the air and slowly pulling his fingers into his palm, counting down from five. They were in front of the bridge. Chris’s breath caught when he realized Leon was readying them to run. His gaze went to the infected again, eyeing the spears they carried, the sharp ends glinting, ready to skewer. The loud shouts of triumph from the monster made Chris’s skin crawl. Ahead, Leon was down to three fingers— two—

One.

Leon broke into a dead sprint, turning on his heel and firing while running backwards, the shot zipping past overhead and slamming into the top of the spine of one of the infected. The Plaga burst from the wound and the Ndipaya writhed, the other two reacting slowly, unable to see clearly through the rain. Sheva darted to her feet and Chris glanced back at the Ndipaya for a second too long before following, both of them running for the bridge after Leon, who was already on the other side and pulling out his knife, cutting at the ropes of the draw bridge. 

There was a shout from behind and a spear suddenly embedded itself just a few inches shy of impaling Chris in the thigh. He stumbled to the right, then weaved as he crossed the last half of the bridge, hands up and shielding the back of his head. The bridge began to lurch under his feet, already falling, Leon and Sheva yelling for him to hurry. Another spear flew, then a third, and then suddenly a searing pain along Chris’s right side. He cried out, but didn’t slow, the bridge swaying and then dropping, Chris forced to leap the last meter. He nearly fell into Sheva, the woman catching him before he could collapse completely, a hand going to his side as Chris fell onto his butt. 

“We need to move,” came Leon’s voice on his left, strong hands lifting Chris by the upper arms, forcing him to his feet. Chris was still facing down the bridge, watching the Ndipaya uselessly throw spears and boards and even pots, throwing themselves in the water in a blind pursuit and being devoured, the once calm waters now churning with the death throes of the infected and the feasting crocodiles.

Leon and Sheva dragged him into the cave and as Chris looked down and saw the blood seeping from the gash below his rib, the pain finally registering, he found himself grinning with the crashing adrenaline and hoping the fallen BSAA agent was happy to know his defilers had met the same gruesome fate.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyyyyy just a warning the next chap is gonna be why I've got that dub con tag! I hope Wesker isn't OOC or anything ;u;

“Jesus, Redfield, just let someone fucking help you.” 

Leon was pleading as he manhandled Chris down onto his knees, Leon already patting himself down for what little first aid he had tucked away in his pockets. Chris fought back, trying to stand, but Leon refused, keeping him down with a firm arm and Sheva’s help. The gash in Chris’s side was about four inches long and deep enough to be still bleeding steadily even now that they were a good distance from the Ndipaya, inside the echoing caves with water dripping lazily from above, cold and damp puddles surrounding. “I need you to stop moving— we need to treat this.”

“I’m fine,” Chris insisted gruffly, still struggling even as Sheva had a grip on his shoulders, keeping him down. “I’m fine! It’s just a cut, I’ve had worse, let go of mr! We have to keep moving.”

“I’m gonna kindly as you to shut the fuck up.” Leon got out the small bottle of antiseptic with the roll of bandages, looking at the wound and trying to judge through the waves of panic on whether or not Chris needed stitches. It was deep, it was really fucking deep, but Leon didn’t hav anything to close it up and he just prayed it would scab over once he got it wrapped. “Sheva, help me cut his shirt around the wound. We need to make sure nothing gets inside it.”

“I said I’m fine, Leon!”

“We’re in fucking Africa,” Leon interrupted harshly, glaring daggers into Chris as Sheva took out her knife and began to cleanly slice away a small section of Chris’s thermal. “This isn’t the Canadian Rockies, there aren’t vaccinations for everything you could catch out here with an open wound, especially when you’re diving around in the fucking mud.” He felt distantly bad and glanced to Sheva. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Sheva replied as she sat back and stood, gun up, covering the two men while Leon worked on Chris. “It’s a dangerous continent.” 

“We’re wasting time,” Chris insisted.

“You’re wasting breath,” Leon shot back. “Sheva, are we good?”“For a few minutes.” Sheva smiled patiently down at Chris, reminding Leon distantly of some parent trying to placate a toddler. Leon let her handle talking because now Chris’s attention was on Sheva, arguing with her about how they were running out of daylight or some bullshit like that. Since when was Chris so gung-ho he was willing to ignore the dangers of wound treatment? It wasn’t like they were in a European city where healthcare was readily available if Chris knocked his head, they were in the middle of the shitting jungle, running through dirty water and being attacked with ceremonial instruments that likely hadn’t been sterilized _ever._ This was more than just some cut that would sting later on, Chris could get a genuine disease from this shit. 

“I have all my fucking shots!” Chris was shouting, trying to sit up, making Leon push Chris back onto the ground and move atop him to keep him from struggling. The dark look Chris sent him had Leon nearly flinching, but he caught himself quickly and glared back. He wasn’t going to back down from this. He doused the wound with the antiseptic and watched the blood bubble, still wishing he had some way to close the wound. Maybe he should look into that, a compact first aid kit with stitches or even an electric cauterizer. Anything to keep people from bleeding out on the field. 

Leon wiped away the excess fluid and peeled back the gauze, carefully laying it over the gash, then getting a healthy amount of Israeli bandage wrapped around Chris’s entire torso three times, wanting the extra layer of protection from whatever could be in the air or water. He clipped the bandage into place and sat back on his haunches, watching the wounded area, counting softly under his breath. Thirty seconds passed and still no blood. Leon heaved a sigh of relief and then looked up.

He was— practically in Chris’s lap. The larger man was sitting on the jungle floor beneath Leon, and Leon was actually straddling one of Chris’s broad thighs, simply because that was the easiest position to get to the wound and wrap the gauze. Chris couldn’t throw Leon off and get all macho about not needing the first aid and Leon could do his work quickly and cleanly and they’d all be better off, everyone would be fine, they’d be back on their feet and moving, except—

Chris was so warm. Leon had his hand on Chris’s side, just below his ribs, above Chris’s sharp waist. The heat from Chris’s body leeched into Leon, chasing the cold of the water that would soon give away to the torturous humidity. Leon was struck with the intrusive thought to throw aside his jacket and fall into Chris. He missed— he missed being held by the man. Leon missed being close to him. That night in Spain, laying together, basking in the intimacy of simple speech, stubbornly not thinking of the future where they’d have to inevitably part ways. Leon missed the soothing comfort he’d stolen in those few precious hours. Even now, ages better and years older, with a friend like Adam who could talk Leon down on the worst of nights, Leon still yearned for the instinctive sense of safety Chris had given him. It was odd, because after being shoved against the Gambit, Leon had thought he’d lost that feeling with Chris entirely. Now, though, sitting atop Chris and touching him, taking care of the man, he couldn’t stop himself from loving. Leon knew he’d already forgiven Chris for what he’d done when he was afraid.

“Leon.”Leon’s eyes shot up to Chris, but he didn’t pull away like he should have. There was a guarded look in Chris’s eyes, something vulnerable and almost shy. The position they were in, while innocent when Leon was just doing first aid, was suddenly something a lot more and neither of them were unaware of it. Leon wet his lips— watched Chris track the motion sharply— and said, “You have _got_ to be more careful.”

Chris scowled, barring his teeth. “I know what I’m doing.”Leon wanted to argue, but instead decided he’d spent too much time indulging himself. He moved to stand, but the front of his knee knocked against something solid and square in one of the pockets of Chris’s BDU pants. For a moment, Leon almost thought Chris had some spare ammo tucked away, or maybe a first aid kit himself. “You holding out on me?” Leon asked while he thoughtlessly reached into the pocket without permission— because Chris Redfield was probably the only person Leon didn’t have any physical boundaries with— and pulled out—

Leon turned the metal box over in his hand, letting the dim light streaming through the cave catch and shine. He opened it, only noticing Chris was reaching to stop him once it was too late. Leon stared down at the three needles that held some sort of clear liquid with a dull sort of confusion. “… What is this?”

“It’s Chris’s adrenaline,” Sheva said like it was the simplest thing in the world. “He uses it for emergency situations, such as truly threatening injuries or things like that. It ensures the mission gets completed no matter what.”

Sheva was saying that like it was completely normal for soldiers to shoot up to pursue their goals. Leon could not agree less. He looked up from the needles that were safely capped off, encased in the protective plastic until Chris apparently ordained the situation dire enough, and looked to the other man, brow furrowed, trying not to assume the worst. It didn’t help that Chris’s expression could only be described as guilt ridden. “Emergencies, huh?”

Chris’s jaw twitched. “Sometimes I need to ignore injuries and get the job done. You know what that’s like.”

Maybe Leon did, but he never shot himself with adrenaline and— “Morphine?” Leon asked, reading something that was in the side of the foam that held the three injections in place. It was a small piece of paper that held the exact contents of whatever the fuck Chris was putting into himself, along with instructions, like Chris would ever ask someone else to shoot him up. There was another piece of folded yardstick with it, but Leon didn't bother checking that out, figuring it was more instructions. Leon’s skin was crawling, but some awful part of himself absolutely understood, and he hated it. Sometimes the mission took too much out of a single person, and the weight of the world was crippling. Sometimes Leon felt like he needed to stop but _couldn’t._ The idea of taking some miracle shot that could give him the last bit of ability and energy to complete the assignment was honestly something he’d wished for in the past. When people like him and Chris had the balance of all human life hanging on their shoulders, it was— a magic needle was so fucking tempting.

But Leon also knew that this kind of thing wasn’t something Chris should be doing to himself. Chris was a person, a single person, and he shouldn’t have to bear that weight, nor should he sacrifice himself to the risk of addiction like that. Leon stared down at the needles in some distant kind of disgust and hated the BSAA for the pressure they put on the man he loved. “It’s not fair,” he murmured, low enough for only Chris to hear.

“What was that?” Sheva asked.

“Nothing.” Leon closed the lid and tucked the container back in Chris’s pocket, but as he met Chris’s deep, brown eyes, he knew Chris knew exactly what Leon had said and what he’d meant. “It’s nothing.” He stood, keeping his own expression controlled. “He should be fine. It’s wrapped pretty tight. So long as we don’t go swimming in the swamps again, he’ll be okay.” His gaze lingered on Chris for another too-long moment as the man hefted himself to his feet, testing the give of the bandage and gauze and seeming satisfied with his range of movement still available.

“Thank you, Leon,” Chris said.

“Sure,” Leon replied stiffly. “Not like I had to drag you down kicking and screaming, right?”

Chris looked away, looked ahead. “There’s a light,” he said. And of course there was a light, this tunnel was one-way as far as Leon could tell, just straight through whatever hill had gotten in the way of these people and nothing else. Chris stepped forward, taking the front as always, and Sheva followed, leaving Leon for the rear. Probably the weirdest place for him to be, if he was perfectly honest. Even in Spain, Leon hadn’t let Chris up front unless Leon was in a bad way. Having Chris in front of him felt like Raccoon City all over again.

Stupidly, the idea made him want to smile.

“Let’s get out of here,” Chris said, prompting Leon to actually and actively follow them. “I hate caves.”

That wasn’t surprising. God, Leon couldn’t count the amount of grimy, cold, wet places he’d dragged himself through for the sake of saving the world, however temporarily. Leon watched Chris and Sheva ahead, hyperaware of the light ahead and behind. The sun was glaring, obscuring the view beyond. Chris and Sheva broke out of the darkness first and then stopped abruptly. Leon followed last and saw—

Tents. A huge circle of tents, tattered and unkempt, but not worn down, with TRICELL written on the front and sides.

“Oh fuck.”

Neither Chris nor Sheva heard him, both of them moving into the campsite with their guns up. Leon knew they could tell as easily as him— this place was abandoned and there was no trace of any bodies, infected or not. Leon stared at the TRICELL logo and felt his throat close up. 

He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t planned for it. The entire reason he was in Africa was for TRICELL but he’d met a dead end and had been given an order to get stateside for further instruction and home base investigation. Leon was supposed to meet with Hannigan, study the scans he’d sent and make corrections for loss of quality, he was supposed to meet with Adam and Advisor Simmons and give them the full report, he was supposed to be be neck deep in files and databases and backlogs upon backlogs, he wasn’t supposed to be here finding _this._ Leon looked around owlishly and just tried to think clearly, even as something occurred to him that he absolutely could not ignore.

Leon wasn’t going to be able to go on with Chris and Sheva.

First and foremost, his investigation took precedence. The _only_ reason he’d been able to take the detour and see Chris was because the investigation had slowed. That had been the only viable excuse. Now that the investigation was back on and more damning than ever, Leon couldn’t feasibly move on and help Chris and Sheva. Well, help being a generous phrase, they honestly didn’t need him, but _Leon didn’t want to leave Chris._ He’d missed the man so much, Leon had _ached_ for Chris Redfield, and despite everything that had already gone wrong, Leon didn’t want to pull away and face another, what? Five years? Nearly five years without seeing the only person that made Leon feel genuinely and truly human, the only person he felt he could ever love. Leon didn’t want to leave Chris. _He didn’t want to leave Chris._

“Tricell…?” Chris reads aloud as he steps into the camp and looks around with a furrowed brow. “They helped fund the BSAA. What they hell are they doing here?” Leon’s mouth went dry.

“I think I found something,” Sheva said from inside one of the tents. 

Chris went in with her, but Leon stayed back, the severity of the situation making his heart sink. Leon had one of two options available to him and he knew which one he would choose regardless of his own genuine desires. Leon pressed into the BSAA comm uplink in his ear, half expecting to be out of range, and yet not relieved when the BSAA handler’s smooth voice filtered through on Leon’s private line.

“This is Leon S. Kennedy of USSTRATCOM,” Leon told the man stiffly. “Get me a line to the President of the United States, access code Hotel-Alpha-Mike eleven-oh-nine Kilo-Sierra-Lima. If you don’t know how, then at least one person in your office should. Director David Trapp would be your best bet.”

There was a break of silence on the line, prompting Leon to roll his eyes. “Just do it,” he said, used to the hesitation of outlying parties that weren’t accustom to dealing with someone who had a direct line to the US President. A lot of them genuinely believed the access code to be a prank half the time. “I don’t have time for this.”

_”It’s barely morning in D.C.”_

“Did I ask for your opinion on the President’s sleep schedule?” Leon didn’t have time for this. “Do as I ask or I’ll have to jailbreak this thing and get to him on my own.”

_“Yessir.”_

Leon ended the transmission just as Chris called out his name from inside the tent. He set his jaw and answered the man, a low grunt as he walked into the first tent on the right of the camp. The floor was dirt with a cot and a small table set up against the far side, a lamp that didn’t work hanging down from the top. It smelled musky and damp and Leon’s nose scrunched, the entire place itself just widely unpleasant. Chris was holding a file in his hand, looking vaguely upset. Leon cut his head down to the folder. “What’s that?”“See for yourself,” Chris replied, holding it out for Leon to take and see. Both BSAA operatives were watching Leon, so when he read the words “Type Three Plaga Field Test,” they both saw the full force of his disgust.

“Always love to see a bit of humanity in everyone.” Leon flipped through the report, mentally cataloging information away. Normally he wouldn’t have collected on the viruses in general, but since this file had been found in a TRICELL camp, he couldn’t just ignore it. The file itself detailed the information on the Plaga, how it was bigger, better, and badder than what Leon had seen in Spain. The original Las Plagas had been inefficient and unmarketable, suiting only a cult fanatic when push came to shove. And even then, Las Plagas wasn’t truly a destructive B.O.W., but a controller. Most terrorists wanted to blow shit to hell and leave no ability to rebuild. With Las Plagas, the terrorist would be required to exact some sort of responsibility for the infected. With this new beast, Leon was pretty sure no one was in charge. Not really, not where it counted. No one had infected his or herself with the dominant strain to send orders and that made the new strain all the more dangerous. 

_“From a business standpoint, [the severe physical mutations of the host] was undesirable. The idea was to create super soldiers without any side effects, something consumers wanted.”_

Leon felt sick from the words, remembering the gruesome changes that had overcome the infected, namely Salazar, Saddler, and— 

Leon’s mind caught numbly on the name. He blinked quickly, shook himself, swallowed hard and went back to reading. He was fine, _Leon was fine,_ but sometimes the memories were a little too much. Even now, late at night, after an onslaught of nightmares, Leon still felt huge hands wrapped around his neck and ridding his lungs of air.

“Leon?”Of course Chris would notice. “Got something in my eye,” Leon lied as he leafed through the pages. Reports on controllability versus infectivity versus physical ability, a mention of how Type Three Plaga came from a base of the original Plaga. Leon felt a little cold at that, knowing the only Plaga that could have survived the decimation of that island in Spain was from Ada Wong. Sometimes he just found it impossible to believe that a woman who had let him survive her gun to his head twice would really sell these viruses to these awful corporations. 

“It says they’re still trying to perfect Type Three,” Chris said. “They aren’t even done with this— they haven’t _finished_ and somehow all of this still isn’t enough. What kind of people look at this level of death and think there’s still more to be done?” Chris shook his head, looking lost, and Leon felt so sorry for him. It was a question everyone in their line of work struggled with. What did it say of humanity to know people like this existed?

Leon looked back to the papers. “It says it’s ninety-two percent successful with men, and zero percent successful with women and children.” He smiled sardonically. “Would you look at that— even as they say the original Las Plagas is obsolete, they still can’t even promise full infectivity. They can’t even infect women.”

“Superficial mutations were found to be fatal,” Sheva said. “Does that mean something? There are no images of the original Plaga…”

“Las Plagas could create inhuman changes in the body,” Leon told her. “A man could become a four-legged beast like something out of a Lovecraft horror novel, and the Plaga itself could be grown without a host in rare instances and then consume others, like feeding a plant. It could also…” He trailed off, swallowed again, forced the words out. “It could take debilitating injuries and nullify them. A soldier with a previous injury in the field couldn’t use his arm to combat standards. Injecting him with the Plaga gave the arm a new look along with a inhuman strength. Las Plagas, in its pure form, could do just about everything you’d expect of a parasitic virus. It grows out of the person as well as feeds on the inside.” He met Chris’s eyes and he knew they were both thinking of the same man— of Jack Krauser. “We’re lucky this Plaga can’t seem to copy the same cheap tricks of its predecessor.”

“Irregardless,” Chris said, watching Leon closely. “What we’re facing now is its own monster. Its infection rate is much higher and faster than Type One.”

“So it is a test,” Sheva said, horrified. “More than just a field run, it’s a _comparison._”  
“Tricell was comparing the effects of this new Plaga to the previous and trying to improve it,” Leon replied. “They were behind this. They were likely the ones who infected the Ndipaya. I don’t know if it was meant to spread so far or if Kijuju was a second test. There’s just…” He stared at the file, gut sinking. “… There’s too much.”

“We have to make them pay for this,” Sheva insisted firmly. “We have to find them and bring them to justice.”

“Let’s move out,” Chris ordered. “We’ll find Irving and find out who he’s working with. Take it all down, every single one of them, no matter what it takes.”

Leon flexed his hand on Rot and said, “This is where I get off.”

Eyes snapped to him and Leon reflexively held his chin up higher, defensive. Chris almost looked like he didn’t believe him. Sheva’s brow was furrowed as she took a tentative step forward to ask, “What was that?” 

“I can’t go with you.” Leon didn’t shy his gaze away, refusing to show weakness. “I’m staying here. I’ll search the camp for more information on Tricell and report back to BSAA and the president. My investigation is continuing from here and it’s my responsibility and my assignment to bring back everything I can for analysis and documentation.”

“Your investigation,” Chris repeated slowly. “You’re staying behind? For what? A couple pieces of paper?”

“I get that you don’t understand, but I’m under direct orders from the president to investigate into Tricell’s international actions and collect data supporting a hypothesis we’ve been harboring. Tricell has been under scrutiny by the president’s new global addendum against B.O.W.s and viral warfare, specifically concerning the pharmaceutical companies considering the incident at Harvardville Airport. It’s important that I find everything I can in this area and report back to them immediately.” Leon felt a little like he was tiptoeing on a landmine, telling Chris that he’d be staying behind, alone and unfamiliar with the area, the unknown ahead and the infected behind— infected that could very well be attempting to pursue them. “It’s my mission, Chris,” Leon said calmly, firmly. “I have to see it through.”

“And what?” Chris asked, stepping forward past Sheva, only a few feet from Leon now. His eyes were narrowed and shining with danger or maybe even anger. “You were with us because you wanted a leg up on the investigation or did your people lie to you and encourage you down this path because they knew it would lead you here?”

“Jesus, Chris, it’s not like that.” Chris’s paranoia was worrisome to extreme levels and Leon really _really_ needed to know if it had anything to do with Chris’s favorite drug concoction tucked away in his pants. “Adam didn’t know about this and neither did I. I came with you because I wanted to see _you,_ okay? There’s no ulterior motive, no lie or hidden plot.” This wasn’t like how Chris’s friends had separated them and this wasn’t like how O’Brian had played the BSAA like a fiddle. “I didn’t know this would be here. I’m sorry, but I have to stay behind.”

“That is incredibly dangerous,” Sheva argued.

“What investigation could be so important?” Chris demanded. “These companies are all the same— you could find this information elsewhere, couldn’t you? Specifically not in a hot zone? What makes Tricell so much more important than the others?”

Leon took a step back, relaxing his stance and evening out his weight. He tucked Rot away and held up his own personal communicator, something he hadn’t really used once since arriving in Africa because it was easier using BSAA comms, though much less protected. His device was a well protected cellular phone, capable of taking high-def pictures and with a satellite connection, Iridium made. On the screen there were just words, an image of a standard black and white orders form. 

“I’m investigating Tricell itself,” he told Chris, deciding that this was need to know well enough. “They bought out WilPharma corporation after the Harvardville Incident and have been under suspicion since we checked in on their cleanup of the WilPharma R&D department and discovered they were shipping small objects separate from the cleanup of the biohazard material. We suspect they may have been attempting to get their hands on a sample of the G-Virus under the guise of extending help after buying out what was left of WilPharma. President Benford ordered me to investigate for him as I have… some personal experience with WilPharma and these corporations.”

“And that’s why you’re here,” Sheva said as she suddenly understood. “You _knew_ Tricell was involved with this!”

“Not exactly,” Leon hedged, his free hand in the air to plead innocence. “I knew they were in Africa, but little else. We’d been secretly digging through their network and discovered some files relating to shipping illegal product into Africa and the keyword ‘ouroboros.’ I didn’t know anything about Las Plagas or their experimentation. I just knew that they were up to no good and I was here to pursue that lead.”

“What do you know about Ouroboros?” 

Leon winced at how royally pissed off Chris sounded. Even though it was a taste of Chris’s own medicine, Leon couldn’t shoulder past the guilt. Maybe Chris could lie and keep secrets for the greater good, but Leon _hated_ keeping anything from Chris. “I know Tricell has its hands in something new,” Leon told him, desperately hoping Chris understood how much Leon hated keeping shit from him. “And I know… That Wesker has his part in it.”

Chris nodded. “The report you sent me. Wesker’s R&D.”

“I don’t know what it does or how it was made, but I know it exists and I know Wesker’s in deep with it, and…” Leon sighed. “Since I knew, I-I had to let you know too.”

Chris’s jaw was clenched. “Why?”

“Because Wesker is your vendetta,” Leon said, pleading earnestly with his eyes for Chris to understand why Leon had to stay behind now. “Wesker is _your_ enemy. It’s beyond special in such a bad way between the both of you, it’s like… I-it’s like how it was between me and Krauser. It’s _personal._ And between me and Tricell is personal now too, for the safety of the world. That’s why I have to stay.”

Chris had to tear their gazes apart. Leon was sure Chris didn’t like how Leon still knew him so well, how Leon could read him like an open book. The vulnerability to someone Chris wasn’t able to be vulnerable with—

“So you’re investigating the corporation that is responsible for a huge chunk of the BSAA’s funding,” Sheva thought aloud. 

Leon nodded his agreement. “Honestly— it’s genius. Hiding in plain sight. If they’re confident enough that they can’t fail, then what’s the harm in creating a strong argument against their involvement with B.O.W.s entirely? If you’re funding the people who would be putting you down, not only does it give you a solid alibi, but it could also get you good friends in high places. Hell— maybe Tricell owns some people in the BSAA.”

Chris and Sheva both looked almost offended by Leon’s suggestion, but it honestly didn’t feel too far off base for Leon. The people who had helped create the BSAA had been perfectly willing to leave Leon to the hands of the US government despite talking big about working together and relying on each other beforehand, even after Leon had worked so hard to get their families into safety from Umbrella’s reach. As far as Leon was concerned, while the soldiers of the BSAA were innocent, top brass was only as trustworthy as they proved themselves to be. And so far, only David Trapp was really someone Leon would put his bet on. “Don’t tell me you’re going to argue in O’Brian’s favor…”

Chris glanced away again, visibly unhappy, but then said, “Jessica Sherawat was a mole.”

Leon nodded. “We have evidence she was working for Tricell.”

“Is she alive?”Chris’s eyes were glinting with fury and Leon was almost worried that telling Chris the truth would send him on a warpath. “She is,” he said despite that worry. “Last we heard of her was in Europe with a Raymond Vester, a previous agent of the dissolved FBC.”

“What?” Chris reared back like he’d been slapped. “Raymond Vester is _dead._”

Leon sighed tiredly. “Shouldn’t we be used to the dead coming back to life?”

“So people are alive and supplying— what? Information? Viruses?” Sheva shook her head. “And it’s all Tricell. They’re here in Africa for something, something more than the Plaga. What could it be?” She looked to Leon. “And more importantly, why is USSTRATCOM even involved?”“STRAT isn’t interested in this,” Leon explained. “The _president_ is. Ever since the Harvardville Incident and his, uh, interviewing of people who have experienced involvement with B.O.W.s, he’s been invested in the B.O.W. crisis just as much as you would expect of an ex-soldier. He’s working to bring the US into the global fight against these viruses and corporations, and he’s even hoping to streamline the passing of information and resources between bureaus and organizations.” Leon took a step forward, telling Chris and Sheva this with passion written all over his face. He’d spent years and years talking to faceless commanders and corporals and political figures that never really understood the severity of the danger B.O.W.s brought into the world. Having met Adam and realizing the man truly understood what was going on had given Leon new life. 

“Adam’s doing his best to ensure that any effort of terrorists or corporations intending to make a profit off of these viruses and parasites are taken down,” Leon continued earnestly. “He wants to ensure that the outbreaks we’ve seen on US soil and around the world never happen again, or are at least handled in such an expedient manner that there are little to no casualties. He…” Leon trailed off, wondering if this would be okay to say in front of Sheva, but deciding he wanted to speak for Adam’s character more. “He’s even considering going public. About Raccoon City. The way they bombed it. It was fronted by a lot of people in the government, including the late Senator Davis, among others. He wants the citizens to know what’s going on. He thinks it’s important that people are made aware so they can defend themselves, or at least… At least be ready.”

Chris went stock still at the mention of Raccoon City, his gaze heavy on Leon, almost haunted. Leon stood tall beneath that gaze that made his heart ache, wondering if Chris was thinking of all the people he’d lost in that city, all of the corpses. Leon realized he’d never gotten around to asking Chris just how many zombies he could have called out to by name. The morbid part of Leon wanted to know— and the part that loved Chris wanted the older man to never have to think about that place ever again. “Adam’s a good man,” Leon insisted, forgetting himself and his place on the totem pole. Chris and Sheva both seemed surprised when Leon called the president by name. “If he’s reelected, he fully intends to complete the fabrication of a new branch of the government that handles security on the B.O.W. scale that falls under national security with Security Advisor Simmons as director. Adam wants America to be part of the frontline against B.O.W.s”

Chris nodded slowly. “You respect this man. The president. A _lot._”

Leon felt himself soften as Chris said this. It had never occurred to Leon that he’d want Chris to approve, but who had he been kidding? Leon wondered if Chris even liked Adam. “I do,” he said, his tone sincere. Then he took in a deep breath to ready himself. “And that’s why I have to stay behind. Adam entrusted this investigation to me because I was there, with WilPharma. I know what this looks like. I have the most experience with B.O.W.s than anyone else in the US government and he trusts me to do this and do it _well._ I can’t leave now that I have my investigation reopened.”

Chris’s expression shuttered. “I can’t leave you on your own.”

God, if Leon were a child, he’d have thrown a fit at this point. “I’m fucking—” Leon cut himself off, frustrated beyond words. Why— why the hell couldn’t Chris just put down the macho act and _trust_ Leon and Leon’s abilities for once in his life? Chris’s reluctance had made sense in Raccoon City, and maybe his worries had been founded at first in Spain when Chris had thought Leon had been dragged from civilian life, but Chris was now fully aware of Leon’s extent of knowledge and experience and skill in the world of B.O.W.s, why the fuck couldn’t he just believe in Leon and trust Leon to look out for himself? 

“I have been in this fight just as long as you,” Leon said, fighting down the urge to snap at Chris. “I have to put up with belittlement from the Senators and Congressmen and advisors every fucking day, I shouldn’t have to take it from you too. I’m a _solo_ operative, Chris, if anything you should be concerned when I have to work with others because that’s something I rarely ever do. Being by myself is my element. Why can’t you just put some fucking faith in me?”

“You’ve never faced the Plaga like this before,” Chris argued.

“You’ve never faced it either!” Leon shot back. “None of us have! You should honestly be more worried about yourself than me! I can run faster than you, I’m quieter than you, I’m less noticeable because I’m not carrying around a mariachi band in the form of equipment!” He was losing his control on his voice, but it was exhausting to be underestimated by the person who’s opinion of him mattered to Leon the most. “I have to stay behind and you two have to go ahead. That’s it, that’s all there is to it, there’s no point in arguing, so just let me go!”

Chris flinched at the words and Leon—

Leon suddenly understood.

“Oh,” he said softly, feeling off balance as Chris suddenly made _sense._ “All this time…”As Leon trailed off, Chris’s defensive walls raised, and he pulled on a scowl to hide the turmoil in his warm, brown eyes. “All this time _what?_” Chris demanded, a mean edge to his voice that Leon couldn’t blame him for having because Leon had put it there. Leon couldn’t answer, either. It didn’t matter what was between him and Chris, Sheva was an outlier and Chris wouldn’t want Sheva to know this about himself. Chris wouldn’t want Sheva to know Chris was terrified of loss. 

It made so much fucking sense that Leon’s head was spinning. Chris’s entire life was built around recovering from loss. His parents, his home and neighbors in Raccoon City, his partners in S.T.A.R.S., his trust in his superior, his trust in his friends, Forest, Jill, _Leon,_ Chris had lost so much more than Leon had ever even had. Chris wasn’t underestimating Leon, he knew Leon was a damn good agent and a good soldier and was good at what he did. Chris had just also known other people that were good. Jill Valentine had been one of BSAA’s best and she’d plummeted down a cliff to save Chris. Forest Spyers had been a long standing member of S.T.A.R.S. and he’d been killed gruesomely in the Arklay Mansion. And the people Chris had called his closest friends, almost his family, had lied to him for years upon years upon years. And Leon— Leon had been ripped from Chris when they’d only just begun to consider the hope and happiness they could have had in one another. 

It wasn’t fair. Chris losing so much over such a short lifetime wasn’t fucking fair and Leon’s heart was breaking on his face for Chris to see. Chris didn’t think Leon wasn’t good enough, he was just so accustomed to losing the people he loved that he expected it. That was why Chris hadn’t gotten himself a team, that was why Chris distanced himself deliberately, that was why Chris couldn’t bring himself to get close to Leon again. Because he knew Leon would just have to leave for a third time and the hurt would never stop feeling like knives. 

Leon wished he could tell Chris it was the same for him. That the separation never felt manageable or that he never felt like being away from Chris was truly the best thing for them. Leon had spent countless nights with Adam, describing Chris and what they’d had and how it felt to be away. Even now, Adam was reluctant to allow Leon to talk about Chris because Adam just wanted Leon to get his head out of his ass and reach out for Chris and try again and Leon—

He couldn’t do that to Chris. Even if it was what they both wanted, he didn’t know if it was what they _needed._ And if they truly did try to be something more, even with all the reasons why they shouldn’t, Chris would only be more traumatized every time Leon got called into the field. It just wasn’t— it wasn’t good for Chris. And Leon could never do anything that wasn’t good for the man he loved.

Leon swallowed hard and lowered his voice. “I’m not going to die,” he promised. “I swear to you, I will not let myself die here. You _will_ see me again. You need to go after Irving and find justice for the people here that have suffered. Just believe in me when I say that I will see you again.”

Chris couldn’t look him in the eye. Leon almost expected Chris to keep fighting him until, “Once you gather the information, what’s next?”Despite the relief welling in Leon’s chest that they weren’t fighting anymore, he had to ask. “What do you mean?”“Are you going to come after us? Or are you going to head back stateside?”Leon hesitated because he genuinely didn’t know. “I’ll be reporting whatever I find to Adam. I’ll have to get my next order from him.”Chris visibly took in and released a long breath. “And from there? What happens to Tricell?”

“Right,” Sheva cut in. "From the looks of it, what happens with them concerns all of us. If they’re to be investigated fully and taken to court for their actions, you’ll need witnesses and official reports from all concerned parties, including the BSAA. This could involve Chris and I on a legal scale.”

Leon shrugged at Sheva and thought of the legal nightmare he’d just gotten through last year. “Who knows? I’m honestly hoping to never talk to a lawyer again after the shit I’ve had to go through with my parents.” While Sheva sent him an understanding smile, Chris froze.

“Your _what?_”

Leon was confused until he suddenly wasn’t. And things had been going so fucking well— 

He felt cold all over and paled, looking to Chris and desperately trying to figure out how to just not have this conversation at all. Leon was so used to people not knowing what Leon’s parents had done, not even Adam knew the extent of the abuse of Leon’s childhood. Figuring out how to settle in court without having to see his parents’ faces again had been a traumatic experience that Leon didn’t want to relive in front of anyone that wasn’t Chris. “Not right now,” he said, his voice breaking at the end. “Just— not. Not now. Later.”

“What did they do, Leon?”

Leon was pretty sure he’d never seen Chris this righteously furious since Jack Krauser had spat every dirty detail of the day he’d killed Leon. “It’s fine,” Leon lied, trying to move past this. “I’m just paying their mortgage and shit, I haven’t even been in the same room as them, it’s all been handling.”

_“Paying their—”_

“Chris, we really have to move.”

Oh thank fucking fuck, Leon could kiss Sheva right now. Chris was nearly red in the face, eyes glinting with hatred, and he kept flexing his hand around Matilda like he wanted to lay every bullet into the nearest enemy just to get his emotions back under control. Leon wished he’d actually thought before saying that. He’d been so used to brushing over the topic with Hannigan and Adam, he’d forgotten Chris actually _knew._ Chris knew in a way that Leon had never even managed to tell Sherry, how could Leon have forgotten something so fucking crucial?

Leon took a step back, forcing his thoughts to the camp and his assignment. “You two go,” he said, unable to look away from Chris, distantly wondering if Chris was angry with _him._ “If anything comes up…” Leon tapped the comms unit in his ear and Sheva nodded. She turned and pulled gently at Chris’s bicep.

“Chris,” she said, voice soft as Chris turned his rage-heavy gaze to her. “We have to go.” Leon was a little amazed by how well she was handling Chris when he was this furious. She’d spent so much time with Delta team— she had to be well accustomed to revenge-hungry soldiers by now. If Leon and Chris were going to separate, Leon was glad to know Chris would have Sheva with him. Chris looked from Sheva to him and Leon felt like ice beneath that stare.

“We’ll talk later,” Chris said, a promise and an order. Leon dreaded the conversation but— he also knew he’d find cathartic solace in Chris that he hadn’t been able to find in anyone else.

“When this is over,” Leon agreed, throat tight. And then, because he wanted something _good_ from this, “We could get drinks.”

He expected Chris to flat-out deny him. Instead, some of the anger melted away and Chris nodded his consent. “Watch your back, Kennedy,” Chris said.

Leon kept a strong face. “Yessir.”

“God, fuck, stop calling me sir.”

Leon almost smiled at how achingly familiar the whole exchange had suddenly become. He felt shaky from how dangerously close the subject had brushed his childhood and the loss of tension from avoiding it all left him tired. Still— Leon wet his lips and dared. “On you?”

The air between them suddenly became riddled with tension, Leon’s heart pounding out of his chest at the sudden look in Chris’s eyes as the man lowered his voice and replied, “On me.” 

He and Leon shared a moment of understanding that felt like it lasted years, ages where Leon couldn’t breathe. Same as in Spain, there was nothing like the feeling of knowing that, despite the separation and trauma, he and Chris were still something undeniably connected. As Chris’s eyes bored into him, Leon stood tall and knew Chris really would be the only person Leon could trust would never hurt him. Not really, not in a way that lasted, and not in a way that truly damaged. For that long moment, Chris searched Leon with his eyes and trusted that Leon would take care of this and survive on his own and they would see each other again when this was all over.

Leon wished he could kiss the man.

Chris tore their gazes apart and looked to Sheva, expression determined. “Let’s go,” he ordered before turning and setting a brisk jog out of the camp to whatever was beyond, not glancing back to Leon because Chris _trusted_ him, Chris trusted Leon despite everything he’d lost, fuck, that felt so fucking good in a way Leon couldn’t describe. Even now, alone in the rundown camp with no clue as to how these researchers had disappeared and knowing that the infected were just behind, Leon was fighting down a grin. Being able to finally understand Chris, to know why the man was so scared to let Leon be on his own. It was relieving to know it wasn’t because Chris didn’t have faith in Leon’s abilities; he was just scared. And that was a lot easier for Leon to stomach. 

He turned into the camp, feeling almost vibrant with resolve now. Leon began a thorough combing of the campsite, finding a few more files all detailing the experiments and plans and even containing shipping details and offshore bank accounts that Leon was sure could be traced back to TRICELL in a concrete paper trail. At least, Leon hoped so. He really did intend to stay the fuck away from the court system from now on. With what he’d had to go through with his parents suing him—

_“Leon?”_

Leon jumped as Adam’s voice suddenly filled his comms and then immediately eased out the tension. He glanced around to ensure there was still no one and pressed his finger into the comms button. “Mr. President.”

_“Jesus, Leon.”_

Leon almost grinned again. Adam was definitely frustrated with him, likely because Leon had ignored his order to pull out of Africa. He was about to give a report when a smooth, cool voice joined Adam’s. _“I’m here too, Leon.”_“Hannigan,” Leon greeted, surprised she’d be here for the call but glad she was. Hannigan had proven to be a truly reliable resource during his assignments over the years, and even though Leon defended his right to being called a solo operative, he liked to think of Hannigan as his partner. “Uh— is there—”

_“Status update? Sherry is getting ready to attend her final undergrad classes as we speak and Claire Redfield accepted your request for her to physically check in on Sherry. And… your S-F soldier is asking after the transfer and recruitment documents he sent in to the BSAA. He seems frustrated he’s not getting much word back concerning enlistment, but he’s not digging into classified files anymore, so he’s not in the red. The only issue seems to be that his C-O is reluctant to let Nivans leave S-F, so he’s fighting the transfer.”_

Leon relaxed immensely at the news. Another reason that he appreciated Hannigan was that she had no qualms in breaking Simmons’s rules and allowing Leon glimpses into Sherry’s life, nor did she have any issue with keeping an eye on that soldier Leon had caught gazes with ages ago in Harvardville. 

Leon normally wouldn’t pry into someone’s life, but ever since Harvardville, Special Forces Long Range Specialist Piers Nivans had been sticking his nose into places it didn’t belong. Leon had asked Hannigan to monitor Piers on a superficial level to ensure the wrong people didn’t catch wind of the kid getting too curious for his own good. No digging into the life, no surveillance of anything huge, just scanning Nivans’s searches into the B.O.W. database and anything virus related _only_ to make sure Simmons or someone worse didn’t catch the kid and have Nivans end up in the same situation Leon had been forced into over a decade ago.

Still— Nivans trying to enlist in the BSAA terrified Leon. He had gathered the kid was too tenacious to take no for an answer for too long considering Nivans had sent in three enlistment transfer requests in the past year alone, but Leon didn’t think he trusted anyone with the kid’s wellbeing except for Chris. As the thought occurred to Leon, he also realized he needed to get back on track. Leon cleared his throat and said, “I’ve got some news for you both.”

_“Is said news your explanation for denying an order?”_ Adam asked, sounding like he really was upset with Leon. _“We’ve been getting updates from the BSAA since this now concerns you. How can you insist on staying in an area overrun with the Plaga?”_

Leon paused as he rifled through papers, deciding to take the leap. “I was with Chris.”

There was a pause. Leon made himself busy as he scanned a file pertaining to shipments across the world, one word in particular catching his eye. He zeroed in one the shipment called “Calvary” and read about how it had been sent all over, yet never remaining in one spot for more than an hour, like it was being shipped constantly to avoid being tracked and taken. 

_“Chris Redfield,”_ Adam eventually said. _“Captain Redfield of the BSAA. Raccoon City Chris Redfield.”_

_“Leon, this isn’t the time to be fraternizing.”_

As much as Leon appreciated Hannigan for her effort, she really could be a wet blanket. “It’s nothing like that,” he murmured as his eyes darted over pages, looking for “Calvary” again. “I’m with him because he and I know the Plaga well. It’s not like I bring a layer of expertise or anything superior. I just know that the Plaga can be a handful. And since there’s rumors of Wesker in the area as well, I couldn’t just _leave_ him alone to that.”

_“You already sent him the reports on Wesker’s R-and-D.”_

Leon winced. Adam wasn’t supposed to know about that.

_“It’s fine,”_ Adam said quickly. _“Just don’t make a habit of it without going through the proper channels first. I know you’ve got a blindspot as big as that man’s biceps.”_

_“That’s an understatement,”_ Hannigan griped.

_“Regardless, it was foolish to stay in Africa when your investigation hit a dead end.”_

“And yet here I am, telling you all about the Tricell shipment called ‘Calvary’ that has jumped across the globe thirty-seven times in just a little over a day before going cold on US soil.”

Hannigan and Adam both went quiet again. Leon stared at the last logged shipment for Calvary— Winchester, Virginia. A little too close to home for Leon’s liking. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what Calvary probably is.”

_“The G-Virus,”_ Adam said, sounding tired.

“In Virginia,” Leon said.

_“That doesn’t add up.”_ There was the clacking of keys, Hannigan putting her nose to the grindstone again. _“The last we had Tricell was Africa and that’s it. Their American branch isn’t in Virginia.”_

Leon snapped a photo of the file and sent it up to the satellite. A few seconds later, Hannigan let out a soft noise of annoyance. _“This… isn’t good, Leon.”_

“Tell me about it,” Leon said with a grimace. “What’s worse is that we have definitive proof Tricell is behind the Plaga outbreak. They were attempting to perfect the Plaga from Type One into Type Three. Whatever the body count is at the end of this will be on their heads. Chris and Sheva went ahead, pursuing Ricardo Irving, a virus peddler. I have a feeling they’re going to be seeing more of Tricell down the way. Chris will tell me if something comes up.”

Adam sputtered._ “Wait, you’re not with them? Leon, where’s—”_

“Seems we have an uninvited guest.”

Leon dropped to his knees at the sound of the unknown, low, male voice, yanking Rot up and staring at the tent entrance, his heart pounding. The tent flaps were closed and there was a tall, dark shadow behind it, a man judging from the voice, an enemy judging by the words. Leon didn’t even dare to breathe as the figure shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Well?” came the voice again, a soft, lilting accent that was vaguely British. “Do you have anything to say for yourself, little pig?”

Adam and Hannigan were still talking rapidly into Leon’s ear, demanding an update and his wellbeing, and Leon couldn’t take the conflicting chaos in his ear when he was trying to maintain silence, so he stupidly reached up and held the comms button, shutting down the device completely. The quiet that followed felt like ice down his spine. The figured reached out and the flap of the tent indented from touch. Leon dug his teeth into his tongue to keep any sound from coming out. Rot was up, pointed at the shadow. Black leather-clad fingertips fed between the entrance of the tent. His eyes stung from how he hadn’t let himself blink and lights flashed in his peripheral vision. He still refused to breathe. 

The tent flaps were parted and a cat-yellow eye above black sunglasses pierced Leon and he fired. The kick of Rot in his shaky grip nearly had him dropping the gun entirely, but at least he’d hit—

The reality that the bullet had torn through tent and that Rot was suddenly no longer in his grip was dimly recognized as a hand suddenly wrapped itself around Leon’s neck and shoved him back and into the ground, the dim light of the overcast Africa sky telling him he was suddenly outside. The hand around his neck dragged him across the dirt and then lifted him up high into the air, a single arm somehow capable of lifting his entire weight. Leon stared down at Albert Wesker, in the flesh for the first time in Leon’s life, and felt pure terror as he gripped Wesker’s arm to alleviate the asphyxiation, because no human being could move that fast, and _Leon wasn’t going to win this fight._  
Wesker smirked at Leon and drawled, “You’re Krauser’s boy.”

Instinct slammed into Leon and he finally listened to his screaming lungs, letting go of Wesker’s arm to bring his hands together into a large fist and slamming it down into Wesker’s elbow. It didn’t matter how strong a man was, pressure points and joints were always a weakness. Wesker dropped Leon without protest and Leon summersaulted back after hitting the ground, getting distance, bringing up his secondary Springfield Armory TRP Operator .45 and aiming his trembling sights on Wesker as he dragged oxygen back into his lungs. As he was finally able to see without wavering vision, Leon spat, “I’m not his. That fucker is dead, I will _never_ be his.”

The smirk remained on those thin, pale lips as Wesker began to pace leisurely in front of Leon, watching him like a cat stalking a mouse. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

“From who?” Leon scowled as he got to his feet, barely keeping the wobble from his legs. His lungs ached and his throat was sore. He wondered how bad the bruises would be. _Wesker had held him in the air with only one hand._ Leon was lucky his esophagus hadn’t been crushed. “From _Jack?_”“Somewhat. And… Ms. Wong.”

Leon’s eyes went wide. “Ada.” He hadn’t actually seen Ada in a good year— they’d met once, a pure accident on Leon’s part, in a bar in New York City. That night— 

Leon flexed his grip on his gun and stared Wesker down, working past the memory. “What are you doing here?”

Wesker raised a fine brow. “This is my camp.”

Leon’s synapses flared with the audible confession that Wesker _was_ working with TRICELL. “You’re working with the Plaga…”

“Working?” Wesker’s smirk broadened and he stilled to hold his arms open like he was displaying something magnanimous. “You halfwit— I helped _create_ this new breed of Plaga. Superior in every way compared to its sister parasites, and yet— still not perfect.” Wesker brought his arms down and folded them behind his back, staring haughtily at Leon like he thought the man was beneath him. “No— I have something _much_ more interesting and arresting than Las Plagas. That dirty parasite found in the backwoods of society. What I have in my hands, what I have created myself… It’s far more than just some puppeteer with a clumsy army of violent infidels. What I have created is the _future._”

Leon almost laughed. “Great— another psychopath with a god complex. When will you people learn genocide is getting out of style?”

“And when will people like you learn that your place in this world is beneath my boot.” Wesker began to pace again, no longer watching Leon, feigning lowering his guard. Leon matched the pacing, moving with the slow circle, staying on the opposite end. Leon knew he couldn’t take Wesker in a fight, but he couldn’t run either. What was left? Die heroically and break his promise to Chris? 

_Chris._

At the thought of the man and Sheva Alomar with him, Leon’s eyes subconsciously glanced down the path Chris and Sheva had taken. It had been at least an hour since they’d parted ways, but would that be enough to create a safe distance? Or what— what if Wesker had come from that direction? Leon nearly tripped over himself as he suddenly realized there was a very real and terrifying possibility that Chris was already dead and Leon would soon join him. The blood ran from Leon’s face. Wesker noticed.

“You seem worried,” the monster intoned, the words dull on his tongue like he was bored to be with Leon at all. “Could it be you’re concerned for that hapless oaf and his partner?” As Leon’s eyes shot back to Wesker, the man smirked wide enough to show glinting, white teeth. “You’re easy. Too easy. Falling for a cretin like Chris Redfield.” Wesker past Chris’s name like it was a curse. “It’s just— all far too idiotic. But at the same time, it makes my life so much easier.” Wesker then looked to something over Leon’s shoulder and cocked his head. “Take him.”

“What—” Leon was suddenly thrown to the ground, a needle biting in his neck, into the place where the Plaga had been injected years ago. Leon gasped and struggled even as whatever he’d been shot up with swam through his body, poison settling in his veins and blurring his vision. He was rolled over onto his back and stared up into the face of—

“Jill,” Leon slurred, unable to process the shock with how quickly his body was giving out to the injection. Yet still, despite the narcotized dying of his awareness, and despite the changes in the woman’s appearance, Leon knew Jill Valentine well enough from images of Jill and Chris side by side. “Jill,” he breathed again, his body going numb as he fought to raise his hand and push the woman off. She was pinning Leon by his shoulders, looming overhead, crouched on the ground beside his head and holding Rot, the muzzle pressed between Leon’s eyes. Her hair was now a severe blonde not unlike Wesker’s and her eyes were empty like one of the undead. From the hemline of the cloak she wore, Leon thought he saw something glowing red. Leon tried to reach up one last time, tried to touch, asking, “why are you—”

A hand suddenly snatched Leon’s coming from the lower half of his body. With the last of Leon’s consciousness, he watched Wesker dropped down to straddle Leon’s waist, Wesker taking Leon’s gloved hand into his own and pulling off the fabric. He pulled down Leon’s sleeve next, looking over his exposed veins, and then reached forward. The heat of Wesker’s body had Leon suddenly remembering another awful man that towered above him and made Leon submit. Wesker held Leon’s jaw with bruising force and that smirk never left his face. “I can work with this,” Wesker said. “After all— there’s no sweeter sound than the scream of Chris Redfield’s agony. And we all know how _possessive_ he can be.”

Leon’s eyes slipped into the back of his head and he succumbed to the abyss of the drug without a sound.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chap is gonna be Chris's POV too I realized I gave myself *way too much* happening between the last chap and the coming fallout *whoops* so you're gonna get double the constipated captain Redfield yay! also iiii'm moving in a week! so idk when the next chap will be up sorry ;u;

Delta Team Captain Josh Stone slammed the industrial strength door behind them, bracing both his hands against the metal like he could keep the infected out with human strength alone. He right himself, panting, and Chris was still almost too stunned to believe the man had actually survived. Cpt. Stone pulled away from the door and turned to them both, panting like they were too. Sheva still hadn’t lost the childlike hope in her eyes at seeing her captain alive and she watched Cpt. Stone with near-reverence as the man turned to them both and demanded, “Are you two okay?”

“Yeah,” Chris breathed, watching the man and remembering Leon’s comment about how Chris should be used to the dead coming back. “I think so. Sheva?”

The woman nodded, her eyes never straying from her captain. That was how it had been since they’d stumbled upon the man in the middle of the oil field plant. Even in the midst of combat, she stuck to Cpt. Stone like she thought losing sight of him would cause him to cease to exist. Chris could relate. He’d felt like that when he’d first seen Leon again in Spain. One blink and they were gone for good. Sheva stepped forward, watching her captain closely. “I’m okay.”

“It looks like Irving is trying to blow up this place and make his escape,” Cpt. Stone said once he had confirmed their wellbeing. “You must stop him before it is too late. I’ll try to find us a way out of here.”

Splitting up. Chris didn’t like it, but he knew they didn’t have much of a choice. “Alright,” he relented. “We’ll go after Irving.” Sheva looked to Chris in dull disbelief, and Chris understood her anxieties. She’d just gotten Josh Stone back and already they were parting ways. Chris didn’t have time to explain, but he knew she’d catch on, if only from the déjà vu. Chris had had to leave Leon— Sheva would have to leave Josh. 

Cpt. Stone nodded. “Good. Okay, now there’s a dock up ahead.” He looked to Sheva, but Sheva quickly turned away, visibly struggling with herself. “That is probably where he’s going to make his break,” Cpt. Stone continued, turning his attention to Chris. “If we can catch him before he gets into the open water, we’ll have an easier time getting evac. Radio’s shotty out there and nonexistent beyond, we will have a very limited window of communication should an emergency arise.”

“Copt that,” Sheva said. She looked back just in time to see Cpt. Stone begin to pull away, heading for his leg of the assignment. “And Josh!” Sheva called out, stopping the man in his tracks. When Cpt. Stone looked back to her, the desperation was palpable in Sheva’s eyes. She took in a deep breath and nearly begged, “Be careful.”

Cpt. Stone gave a small shrug, a nod, and then was gone again. Chris felt distantly like they’d been talking to a ghost. He looked to Sheva and didn’t fail to notice how Sheva was staring at the door that Cpt. Stone disappeared through, not even straying her gaze when the door fell shut. “Let’s hurry,” Chris prompted gently, feeling so much pity that it felt like a lump in his throat. “He’ll be alright. He’s made it this far.”

Sheva looked to him, owlish. “… You’re right. They’ll both be okay.”

Chris flexed his grip on the sniper rifle he’d snatched from an infected and nodded his agreement. “Let’s move.”

Sheva smiled at him shakily like she was trying to reassure them both. “Okay.”

Chris turned to lead Sheva down the stairs, able to assume the general direction of the docks from Cpt. Stone’s directions. The entire oil rig facility was just as grimy as Chris had expected and he was going to be grateful when they could leave. It felt like he was gagging on petroleum with every breath he took. The bottom of the stairs led to an opening, no door or any wall of protection, just more machinery and barrels of explosive materials with the overcast, gray sky above. Chris didn’t breathe any easier out here. He was itching for action, more infected to put down, needing the fight for survival to keep his mind off Leon. The man had promised, he’d _promised,_ but Chris was taking a page from Leon’s book, unable to shake a bad feeling. He just hoped that Leon would listen to orders this time and leave Africa without them. 

“This way,” he told Sheva, heading to a chainlink fence with barbed wire atop it and a set of red doors bearing all kinds of hazard and caution symbols. Chris put his back to it and waited for Sheva to join him. They pushed the doors open as one, Chris switching for Matilda to save the rifle ammo. 

The open water roared in front of them, some sort of huge lake or maybe even an ocean. Chris hadn’t been prepped for this amount of deep water, but he knew that his initial mission hadn’t included pursuing Irving this deep into Africa. More barrels and machinery surrounded the concrete platform that led down to the dock Cpt. Stone had mentioned. Beyond, at the stone dock that was just below the platform, there was a large boat that looked like some sort of expensive cruiser yacht transformed into something almost industrial with the flags of the country whipping in the wind. 

“That’s Irving’s boat!” Sheva cried out. “Let’s go!”

Chris nodded and headed to the right down the platform, stalling for only a moment when he saw what looked like a water or oil container, the size of a farm’s silo, but made of more concrete with the word TRICELL stamped across it in white lettering on red paint. Chris almost wished he had something on him that could manage a picture, wanting to help Leon’s investigation if he could. He pressed his finger to the comms, meaning to key onto Leon’s frequency and let him know what Chris was seeing, what their status was, _if Leon was still okay,_ but he was stopped by Sheva moving past him, her eyes only for Irving. Chris shook himself, knowing she was right, he needed to focus, and ducked low, mindful of shots from above, following Sheva. They ran down the steps together, moving quickly across the dock to the boat that floated lazily in the water. Rounding a corner brought the upper deck into view, revealing—

“There he is!” Sheva cried out, bringing her gun up, sights trained on Irving who was pacing without a care in the world. And off to the side, dressed in black, the mask of the plague, Irving’s mysterious partner dropped into a small speedboat. The figured stood and trained the red plastic lenses of the mask on them. “Wait,” Sheva breathed. “Isn’t that…” 

Sheva’s words were drowned out by the roar of the speedboat, the woman peeling away from the dock and heading back towards the jungle, the way they’d came. Panic flared in Chris, but only for a split second. Leon had promised he would be okay and there was no reason for Irving’s partner to be pursuing Leon. Chris kept his own sights on Irving and forced the fear aside— Leon would be fine. It was Irving that needed his full attention.

Above them, Irving began to laugh. “Splendid timing!” he crowed, clapping his hands like a comic book villain. “Youse two are just in time for the fireworks show! _Boom!_” He threw his arms out, mimicking an explosion, and cackled. 

“He’s fucking insane,” Sheva whispered beside him. Irving kept up his jarring laughter as the engines of his boat fired up. The man gave them a two fingered salute as the yacht began to accelerate and pull away from the dock, Irving walking along the deck to keep within their sights until the last moment. 

“I hate that guy,” Chris said as the boat moved down the water, away from them with no way to pursue. The waters were infested, they knew that from experience, and they wouldn’t be able to keep up with the boat regardless. “Another hitch,” Chris grumbled, frustrated. The sooner they got Irving, the soon he’d be done with this whole disaster and one step closer to finding Jill. “Where the hell is Irving—”

There was a scream behind them, the braying war cry of a Majini. Chris and Sheva whipped around and were stunned by the amounts of infected that were behind them. “It’s like they keep coming!” Sheva gasped, horrified. “How many people have the parasite?!”

“More than we have bullets,” Chris replied grimly. He popped the clip from Matilda, counted the seven bullets left in her, then catalogued the four for the shotgun and the three cartridges for the rifle. The infected stormed out of the facility and barreled their way. “What have you got left?”

“Not enough,” Sheva said. They met gazes and shared another moment of twin resignation. They’d keep fighting until they had nothing left and that would be the end of it. Sheva stood firm at his side, their guns up and leveled for the skulls, the horde screaming as it rushed for them, the seconds ticking down in the back of Chris’s mind, his breath coming in stilted gasps as he thought of Leon and wondered if he’d be the one to break the promise of them meeting again, and—

_“Sheva, do you read me? I secured a boat!”_

“Josh,” Sheva gushed as she and Chris retreated step by step back down to the edge of the dock. She pushed her free hand into the comms, looking just as relieved as Chris felt. “Josh, I’m here! We’re about to be overwhelmed! Where are you?”

_“Right behind you.”_

The engine of Cpt. Stone’s boat was like music, Sheva and Chris turning in unison to leap from the dock, not even wanting to risk the fight against the infected. Cpt. Stone expertly stalled the boat long enough for Chris and Sheva to land in the body, the craft shuddering beneath their weight, rocking dangerously, Chris catching himself on the edge to keep from tipping over. Cpt. Stone took Sheva by the shoulder, steadying her, and asked, “Are you alright?”

Behind them, the facility suddenly erupted in fire and smoke, explosions rattling every single corner of the oil rig, the billowing clouds of heat reaching high in the sky, blacking out the daylight. The rig tower swayed and tumbled down, shock making waves that made the boat sway even more severely as Cpt. Stone got them the hell out of the blast zone, coming to a sharp stop, Cpt. Stone just standing and watching the place collapse. Chris dropped down to sit on the edge of the boat, hands in his lap, at a loss. Where could they go from here? The boat had left, but they didn’t know where the hell Irving was trying to go. And the explosion— it was a lot like how Umbrella would wreck their facilities to hide evidence under the guise of keeping the viruses safe. What had been lost? What would Leon’s investigation now lack?

“What happened to Irving?”

Chris’s eyes shot up at the sound of Cpt. Stone’s voice. He then looked to Sheva, both of them wearing expressions of defeat. Chris was sure their faces spoke for themselves.

“Ah,” Stone murmured. Then, after a deep breath, “Well, he can’t have gone too far.” The captain went to the controls, checking over the dials. “We’ve enough gas in the tank to last us quite a ways. Let’s get after him.”

Sheva looked up, hope brimming in her warm eyes again. “Josh…”

Chris stood, feeling reinvigorated, if only just. He nodded to the captain, grateful to have someone that could keep them moving. “Thanks.” 

“We can’t give up now, can we?” Cpt. Stone started up the engine again, shredding the waters in pursuit. “I know the area— there’s very little options as to where he could have gone. If we follow this channel, I’m sure we’ll end up wherever he may be.”

Sheva sat down in the boat, looking up at her captain with a sense of comfort, her gaze calm despite the situation they were in. The boat bounced on the waves and Sheva leaned forward, asking, “What happened, Josh? We found all of Delta team—“ She cut herself off, words clipped. “… We didn’t find you.”

“I escaped the situation,” Cpt. Stone said, his own response stiff. He wet his lips, the past difficult to face. “I watched them die. Useless. Unable to do anything against such a beast. I heard their screams…” Cpt. Stone’s voice trailed off and Chris drowned in the very thing he suffered to hide from. Chris knew he’d be a good captain, he knew he would benefit from the camaraderie and connection, he knew he’d end wars with a team of his own, but he— he knew he wouldn’t survive if he lost them all. His death anxiety kept him from giving in and giving up himself to become a true captain because he knew— he just fucking _knew_— that he wasn’t good enough to keep everyone alive.

“I knew they were all dead,” Cpt. Stone continued. “My family— gone. So I did the only thing I could. Killing the beast wouldn’t bring them back and wouldn’t bring me peace. I needed to track down the people behind it and bring them to the same end. That is the only way my men will rest, Mawu willing.”

Sheva bowed her head, agony in her eyes as she echoed, “Mawu willing.”

“I came to this facility in my pursuit,” Cpt. Stone went on to explain. “I was nearly overrun. Ammo was low and my energy was failing. I was alone and I could not get in contact with HQ thanks to the facility itself seemingly blocking outgoing radio signals, allowing only localized conversation. I was cut off— I thought that I would die as well, joining my men.” Cpt. Stone smiled ruefully. “And then, what do I hear? But the incredibly loud footsteps of another captain, bringing me my little sister. Safe.” As he drove the boat, he glanced to Sheva, that smile still tugging on his lips. “I am glad you are safe and that you have made it this far. I was worried when Delta Team fell, as I knew you’d be following with the USSTRATCOM agent. I’m glad to know you proved to be every bit the formidable soldier I trained you to be.”

“You met Leon,” Chris said dully.

“I did.” Cpt. Stone’s expression became neutral. “He knew his way with a weapon, though that is the most I can say on him. He was very insistent on being the one to pick you up. Almost excited, if the word was appropriate.” He glanced to Chris. “Old friend of yours?”

Sheva grinned, relaxing a little. “Or more.”

Chris snapped his head to her hard enough to hurt, eyes wide with disbelief that she’d just say something like that. Sheva instantly looked panicked, flinching under Chris’s gaze, fumbling to say, “Or not, or not, I just—“ She seemed helpless and Chris knew his own reaction had been damning enough. “I— Chris, the way you _looked_ at him, the way he _looked at you._ It was like you could read each other’s minds! I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed my boundaries and said something so inappropriate.”

Chris’s mouth was dry and the only thing he could think of was to ask if it was that obvious. Ashley had noticed, but Chris and Leon had been pretty heavy on the tension back in Spain, and Chris had _thought_ he and Leon had been pretty damn professional up until splitting up. Chris looked down to the bottom of the boat, down to his blood and mud scuffed boots. Sheva was waiting for his forgiveness and Cpt. Stone was being tactfully silent. If Chris had hoped to deny the harmless accusation before, he definitely had no hope of convincing them otherwise now. 

Chris felt _sick_ with something like a sour mixture of anxiety and shame, remnants of the way his friends had viewed his relationship with Leon, the spite and poison and lying, the treatment of Leon that made Chris terrified to even speak the man’s name in front of others because he was scared he’d only get Leon hurt again if he was transparent with his feelings. It wasn’t safe to love Leon, not with the others, Chris felt like he could throw up because Sheva was BSAA and she _knew._ And yet—

Sheva and Cpt. Stone were BSAA, but they didn’t know Chris. They may have heard stories since Chris was a renown operative who was well-liked for his efficiency and ability, but Chris had never met these people before. They were BSAA but they were clean slates for Chris. They had no reason to look down on Chris and Leon for what had transpired in Raccoon City and they had no reason to want Leon gone. It was— it was safe, right? It had to be safe.

Chris thought of Leon back in that camp, alone and digging through papers for information on his all-important investigation. That was just over an hour ago and Chris wished he’d been able to contact Leon before getting into the open water. He didn’t think the signal would reach that far now. He thought of the last thing Leon had said to him, those two words that make Chris’s hands clammy and his heart race. He also thought of how Leon had accidentally told Chris he’d— that he was paying his parent’s mortgage. And Chris had no idea how _the fuck_ something like that had happened. More than anything, Chris ached to know things had gone so wrong while he’d been away. Claire’s report of Leon’s emotional state in Harvardville, hearing from Claire that Leon was no longer allowed to see Sherry and that Chris should just not bring her up if he saw him again, now this? How much dirt could the world shove onto Leon’s shoulders before his knees would give out and he’d be buried? 

Chris felt ill with the anxiety of the truth all over again, but that was a normal sensation whenever he worried about Leon because he couldn’t let out these feelings or thoughts or worst case scenarios to anyone, ever. He didn’t trust anyone with Leon and he certainly didn’t trust himself. But Sheva— 

Chris took in a deep, steadying breath. “He and I were something,” Chris said, squeezing the edges of the boat, terrified, though not for the same reason most men would be when confessing to being with another man. “But… It was never the right time.”

“That’s what Leon said.” Sheva’s voice was low and understanding, reminding Chris a lot of his sister. “That you both had the worst timing. But it seems to me like people like us can work with bad timing. Even if it’s never the perfect moment, we take what we can get and make the most of it. Shouldn’t that be how it is for you?”

Chris glanced up, judging the expressions and relieved to find no contempt. Sheva looked like she genuinely cared and Cpt. Stone was simply curious. “I heard rumors,” the captain said. “About you and someone else. Never heard the name, never gave much thought to gossip, either, but you know Lieutenant Andrews— it’s difficult to get him to stop trying to outtalk Director Lumley.”

Chris managed a smile, unable to agree more. John and Keith practically got into shouting contests with each other, trying to drown the other out with the better story or joke. Chris was glad to hear not much had changed even though he felt pity for the BSAA’s West Africa Branch. “Can’t imagine having to put up with both of them on a professional level.”

“They can definitely be an earful,” Sheva relented with a sweet laugh.

“Lieutenant Andrews talked about you and— the killer blond, as he put it. He mentioned you and this blond doing a mission together. That, apparently, you were a deadly team.” Cpt. Stone looked to Chris for his reaction, raising a brow. “He seemed to think you and this killer blond were something like… Star crossed lovers. He was very romantic about it.”

“We were all picturing someone like a Bond girl,” Sheva admitted, smiling sheepishly. “It never really occurred to me it could be Agent Kennedy until we reached the camp.”

“From the Kennedy report.” Cpt. Stone shook his head, as if in disbelief. “Hard to imagine— two of the best out there knowing one another personally is insane enough. Being—” Cpt. Stone waved his hand vaguely in Chris’s direction. “—Whatever you were with him is something else entirely.”

“Talk about a power couple,” Sheva said with a grin.

“It doesn’t matter,” Chris said stiffly. “It didn’t, doesn’t, and won’t work. We both decided it’s for the best that we don’t try anything. We had our time together and it was…” The best thing to ever happen to him, the memories that kept him up at night, the reason he fought, those words Leon had said, _make the world a little safer._ “… It was good,” he settled on, unable to put his feelings into words without flaying his chest open for these two people to see. He didn’t trust them like that, he couldn’t. “It’s hopeless.”

“I’m not sure Agent Kennedy thought as much,” Sheva hedged.

“It was Leon’s idea,” Chris replied, feeling suddenly tired. “Look, I just— I’m sorry for bringing in such a layer of unprofessionalism. I didn’t mean to act the way I did back at the camp.”

Cpt. Stone’s brow furrowed in confusion as he whispered, “Camp?” to himself.

“You’re worried about him,” Sheva reminded Chris placatingly. “Even if it were not romantic, past or present, he’s still someone you know and is close to you. We’ve been losing our people left and right in droves worthy of being called massacres, it only makes sense that you’d be so scared to split up and leaving him on his own.”

“But he’s always on his own,” Chris argued. “Leon’s _always_ alone.”

“And you hate the fact, don’t you?” Sheva rebutted.

Chris hung his head because she was absolutely right. It was another reason why Chris couldn’t stomach accepting a team— how was it fair that Chris got to have a found-family in his men when Leon was condemned to being a solo operative? The most Leon had was a voice in his ear that could be a robot on the best of days and now he couldn’t even go home to Sherry. How was it fair that Chris had people and Leon didn’t? Chris wasn’t punishing himself, but he didn’t want Leon to have a reason to resent Chris for what Leon didn’t have. “It’s complicated,” was all Chris said. “And we’re better off limiting our time so we don’t… We don’t get distracted by what we don’t have.” He stared at his hands and, for a rare moment, thought of the folded photo tucked away in the morphine box. “We’re both in deadly situations with little to no hope of survival. It’s easier when there’s no one waiting for you at home.”

“That has to be the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard,” Cpt. Stone deadpanned.

“Seriously,” Sheva agreed with a horrified look. “You’re really just going to give up like that?”

“You have no idea what we have against us,” Chris sighed. “It’s more than just these viruses and the parasites, the villains. There are other things that just make it impossible.”

“Impossible or apprehensive?”

Chris’s gaze shot to Cpt. Stone, who was eyes ahead, still steering them towards their goal. Around them, the channel had tightened, reeds littering the water, more wildlife present as the banks got closer and the overhanging jungle obscured vision of what was ahead. Cpt. Stone cut his eyes to Chris for only a second. “If you truly think it is impossible, then I am sorry. But Agent Kennedy _was excited_ to make contact with you. Even if it is difficult, isn’t having someone who looks to your presence with such joy worth the risk?”

Chris didn’t know what to say except, “I’m scared to put him in harm’s way.”

Cpt. Stone shrugged. “Don’t you think someone like him can handle that danger?”

Chris had to look away, unable to stomach what he was being told. The idea of such selfishness— “I can’t,” he choked out. “I just can’t. Not now. Not with the way I am.” He wanted to apologize, but the person who needed the apology wasn’t with him. “It’s not up to me. It was Leon’s decision and I— I have to respect that. I have to get his consent.”

“Consent?” Sheva looked confused. “We’re not talking about sex.” Cpt. Stone sputtered at the word coming from Sheva and Chris almost laughed, realizing Sheva was really was the “little sister” of Delta Team. “Why would that be an issue?”

“Leon had a rough life before it became this hell,” Chris said stiffly. “I— you have to ask him for things. You always should. I ask him before I touch him, I move slow when I reach out. I have to be careful. So consent for anything like this— getting his permission, making sure he knows what’s going on and agrees and wants it. I can’t give that up. I can’t sacrifice that for my own desires. I can’t— he’s too important.”

Oddly enough, that argument seemed to be what convinced the other two. It was one thing to punish himself, it was another to protect Leon. Every BSAA member knew the agony of protecting the ones they loved. “He’s just not ready for that,” Chris told them. “And that is one of the things that I hold close. That I won’t be someone he’s afraid of. That’s what matters to me.” He looked between them and prayed they’d understand. “I can’t be another monster in his life. I just _can’t._”

“Well,” Cpt. Stone said, tone somber. “If that truly is the decision you’ve made, then you must stand by it.”

“He’s right,” Sheva added. “Like at the camp. He kept…” She glanced away, to her captain, almost like she wasn’t sure if she should talk about whatever she meant to say next. “It was obvious, at least to me, that Leon wanted to be closer with you. So if he were to change his mind…”

“If Leon decides he wants things differently, then he’ll have to be the one to initiate,” Chris replied firmly. “Maybe it’s not fair to him or to me, but I don’t care. I’ve never been the one to corner Leon and make him feel pressured and I intend to never be that way.”

“Pretty self-destructive,” Sheva commented gently. “Not that it’s wrong— I don’t know if there is a wrong or a right in this situation. But I don’t think either of you are happy.”

Chris looked out across the water, flexing his hands on the edge of the boat. “How many of us in this fight are happy?” he asked stiffly. His question had the other two falling silent and nothing else was said for a very long time. Chris sat quietly, feeling remnants of guilt for saying something so final and honestly depressing, but he knew he wasn’t wrong. Even with the families that were formed within the BSAA and organizations like it, death was the only constant any of them ever had.

As they sped down the channel, the sun began to set, swallowed up by encroaching thunderclouds, lightning flashing ahead. The crossing reeds obscured the shoreline, Chris unable to tell where the land even began if the worst happened and the boat tipped. Trees arched over on both sides and out of the water, long, pale, leaf-less branches that looked like bones reaching from the murky depths. Thunder cracked and Chris grit his teeth, stemming anxiety and telling himself that, by now, Leon was back with other BSAA operatives and on his way home. 

The rain would undeniably bring the risk of flooding, but at least Leon was safe. All Chris had to do was survive and make good on his end of the promise. He glanced across the boat to Sheva, distantly aware of Cpt. Stone’s soft murmurings as the man remembered the directions of the channel. Chris knew that he would keep these soldiers alive as well, if only to soothe the ache in his chest from the loss they’d already experienced these past couple days. Chris looked ahead again and— leaned forward, squinting into the growing darkness. He thought he saw something moving, a ripple in the water in front of them. “Is that…”

Sheva stood as Irving’s boat suddenly drifted from the dense jungle, hidden from sight and directly in their craft’s way. “Oh shit!” Cpt. Stone cried out, desperately yanking the wheel to keep them from colliding with Irving’s boat. Even with the violent turn, their smaller boat knocked hard against the side of Irving’s craft, Sheva knocked onto the ground and Chris nearly tossed back into the waters. Before Chris had a chance to catch his breath, the GAU 19/A machine guns atop the yacht were turned on them, bullets peppering the water before slamming into the metal hull. Sheva cried out and wrapped her arms around her head, knees to her chest, and Chris crouched forward, leaning above the woman. As the shots failed to turn him and the others into Swiss cheese, Chris scowled and realized, “They’re gonna sink us!”

“We’ve got to do something!” Cpt. Stone cried out from where he was crouched behind the control panel.

Chris grabbed Sheva’s hand, pulling her forward to the bow of the boat, both of them pressed low to the hull and ducking as bullets continued to spray the water and metal. “We gotta get aboard that ship!”

Cpt. Stone nodded, turning the wheel sharply again, ordering, “Hold on— get ready!” Their boat shot cross the water, Chris crawling forward to the nose of the boat that was high above the water from the speed. As Irving’s yacht began to move forward again, trying to keep up with the quick acceleration of the speed boat, Chris brought up Matilda and held her steady, feeling the bounce and give of the boat on the waves and firing at the machine turrets, a head shot bringing down one of the infected cleanly, giving them a split second to breathe. 

The port side was unguarded, the other turret unable to turn a complete one-eighty, allowing them an opening to pull up alongside. Chris stood, scanning the railing for the best way in, and waved for Cpt. Stone’s attention, pointing to the ladder along the port that would bring them to the upper deck. Cpt. Stone called out an affirmative and kept the boat as steady as he could while staying as close as he could to the larger craft itself. Chris didn’t hesitate, leaning back and then launching himself forward and up with momentum and strength, grabbing the bottom of the ladder with a cry of triumph and pulling himself up onto the boat. He whipped Matilda up again, quickly putting down the other infected on the machine gun, and turned back for Sheva, holding his hand out again. With a grunt, Sheva leaped up and their hands cinched together, Chris pulling her up onto the boat alongside him. Sheva gave a nod back down to her captain and then turned ahead with Chris, both of them staring down the long deck of the ship as lightning flashed and thunder rolled.

A floodlight beamed to life and Irving strode down the deck towards them, his shoulders hunched to his ears and arms at length at his sides. He sneered at them and spat, “Won’t you two just die already?!” He gulped down a breath like he was in pain or afraid. “You’re making me look bad!” As Irving stalked closer and closer, his steps swinging like some sort of limp, Chris and Sheva took a single step back, neither of them able to see a weapon on Irving but both unable to ignore the hackling fear that something bad was about to happen as cold rain began to fall. “Who did you think got this entire operation off the ground? Research like this doesn’t fund itself, you know.” As Irving got closer, Chris could clearly see the deranged glaze in his yellow eyes. 

“Yet everyone looks down on me,” Irving bit out, almost snarling, showing his teeth. The wind whipped his short hair and Irving stopped in his tracks, staring down at the deck below, expression hollow. His left arm moved and Chris shuddered as he saw the metal and glass vial containing a red liquid that could only mean bad news.

“Don’t do it” Sheva shouted as she and Chris aimed their weapons in Irving in unison. Chris felt icy fear lace down his spine as Irving ignored Sheva and slammed the vial into his neck, cackling like a maniac, glassy eyes wide with the empty horror of a dead man walking. Chris swallowed hard, memories of Salazar and Krauser and Saddler all flashing through his mind as he tried to imagine what horribly monstrosity Irving would become. As Irving’s laughter devolved into agonized, garbled noises of pain, Chris put his arm out to push Sheva with him as he took another step back. For a moment, his only instinct was to dive in the water and flee the monster Irving would become.

Chris swallowed down the instinct and kept his sights up as Irving dropped the vial to the deck floor and began to stumble, writhing on his feet, his hand to the injection point at his neck. “He’s changing,” Chris murmured to Sheva as he watched Irving, waiting for the moment he became something inhuman. “Whatever happens, count your bullets and stay light on your feet. They become huge, and sometimes they’re fast— definitely stronger than us.” Irving dropped to his knees, reaching then for his throat, gagging loudly. Something began to jump on his back, like water bubbling beneath the surface. Chris steadied his stance. “But their moves are easy to read. Just stay with me and stay vigilant. Tell me what you’re doing and when. The way we win this is by staying one step ahead.”

Tentacles burst from Irving’s back, blood spewing, red splattering across the deck. Irving screamed and lurched up with the heaving tendrils coming from his body, eyes huge. The tentacles braced on the deck and lifted Irving’s limp body, the insane man still somehow able to garble, “I’m far beyond anything you could ever hope to become!” Spit and blood drooled from his lips as he began to laugh again.

Chris took in a deep breath and gave Sheva his last piece of advice— “He’s not better, he’s not beyond us, he’s not superior— he’s a monster. Never forget that.”

Irving’s tentacles lashed out and Chris broke away from Sheva, dodging and immediately firing, reassured to have Matilda in this, another companion that had faced this before. The tentacles coiled and thrust, flinging Irving through the air and into the water, dodging the bullets. Chris and Sheva ran after him, stopping at the railing and peering down into churning waters that sped by with the yacht’s acceleration. “Is that it?” Sheva asked. “Is he gone?”

Chris set his jaw and readied Matilda again. “They’re never gone.”

The boat suddenly shook beneath them, Chris and Sheva both being knocked dangerously high. Chris got his footing and looked back, feeling his heart sink into his stomach as a tentacle broke from the water and arched through the air high above their heads, twice as thick as him and Lovecraftian in nature. It waved through the rain and then flung itself down _hard_ on the deck, Chris and Sheva rolling away from one another to avoid being crushed. More disgusting tendrils snaked across the craft, almost caressing the metal before retreating, sinking back into the depths. Chris heard something break the surface off the port side and turned just in time to see Irving burst through the waves and roar into the sky.

“Shit,” Chris growled. It really wasn’t Irving anymore. 

The thing was more mouth than anything else, the tentacles coming from beneath the water with a huge head that split down the front, three jaws splaying open like flower petals to reveal what was left of Irving inside, the man fused into pulsing, red flesh that was twisted and elongated like a whipping tongue. The huge flaps of muscle and skin surrounded Irving like a halo of disease. Flesh writhed atop Irving’s naked form, the man somehow still sane enough to laugh and speak, cackling as he shouted, “I just had an extreme makeover!”

“Get your money back,” Chris growled under his breath. The yacht tipped dangerously again and Chris caught himself with his hand on the deck as Irving launched his new, disgusting body over the boat in an arch that could almost be called graceful, allowing Chris an eyeful of the changes. Irving was all mouth now, the middle of the behemoth some mess of skin and muscle and bone like the spine of a reptile that obscured the tentacles that whipped behind it, Chris counting at least eight. He was as wide as the yacht itself and three times the length. Irving dove into the water and broke the surface again, slamming the tentacles down and rocking the boat. 

_“Chris!”_ Came Cpt. Stone through the comms, his voice frantic. _“Status report! What the hell is that thing?!”_

Chris cursed and pressed into the comms, running even now, trying to stay ahead of Irving. “Just get outta here, Josh!” He ordered, knowing full well that he was telling their only method of escape to retreat. Even if he condemned them both, Chris knew Sheva would want her captain to live. “It’s too dangerous!”

“We’ll try to stop it,” Sheva said through the static.

_“Understood,”_ Josh said grimly. Chris glanced into the water and saw the small boat break away, falling back, staying out of harm’s reach— thank god. _“Just try not to get yourselves killed!”_

“Chris!” Sheva cried out from the other side of the boat, her face stricken with something like fear, her eyes glued to where Irving’s infected form was tearing through the waves to keep up with the boat, tendrils slamming down on the deck with every chance he got. “We don’t have the firepower!” Sheva dove again, barely avoiding being swiped off the deck by one of the limbs. The deck itself was slippery and the rain was cold as ice. She scrambled to her feet and brought up her gun, wasting her bullets as she failed to land a hit on the tentacles that moved quick as lightning. 

Chris’s eyes darted around, searching for an answer. They didn’t have the firepower nor the bullets for this fight. Irving was the size of the average office building and they were just two people. He thought back to when he’d fought an alarmingly similar mutation, what Salazar had become back in the bell tower in Spain. Salazar had turned into a creature much like this one, huge, terrifying, using tentacles from a horror story, nestled in the center like pollen in a flower, a weak spot. All they had to do was get the flower to open up and rain hell into Irving’s disintegrating human form. But what did they have that could give them the rapid fire, the firepower, _and_ the excess of ammo to cover how most shots would miss due to their speed?

“Chris!” 

Sheva’s cry tore his attention and he looked to her. She screamed his name again and Chris looked above, then dropped down and rolled, the deck shaking as Irving smacked a writhing limb into the spot Chris had just been standing. The tremble of the ship and the water raining from the tentacle frayed Chris’s thoughts and he tasted blood from where he’d bitten through the edge of his tongue. “Chris!” Sheva shouted again, her voice raw with fear. “We can’t do this forever! We’re sitting ducks!” There wasn’t enough ammo, they didn’t have the firepower, they couldn’t get to the controls and steer the boat out of the water because Irving could destroy the boat if he wanted, they didn’t have big enough guns, fast enough guns, they didn’t have the supplies, they didn’t have anything, but the yacht—

Chris’s eyes snapped to the turrets that were on either side of the yacht, the machine guns mounted in place, and felt a flash of hope, the fleeting idea that _they could win this._ “The turrets!” He ran for Sheva, falling into her as Irving tried to crush them again, Chris dragging Sheva onto the ground and then back onto her feet in the same breath. “Two turrets, one on each side of the boat! We can do this!” Chris smiled almost feverishly at her as he pushed her towards the turret on the starboard side. “We can do this!”

Sheva, impossibly, met the insane smile with some shaky grin of her own and sprinted across the deck, losing her footing to the slippery metal and colliding with the turret, climbing up and grabbing the controls. Irving was on her side, and Sheva fired everything the gun had into Irving as the monster dove in and out of the water like a demented, ruined dolphin, the creature as fluid as the water itself, yet too big to be to avoid the onslaught of the bullets.

Chris smiled, wild and manic, as he slid across the slipper metal and climbed into his own turret. “Electronically fired, three-barrel gatling,” Chris began tor recite as he checked over the huge gun, his hands shaking with adrenaline and anticipation. “Fires point-fifty B-M-F rounds,” he listed as he checked down the sights and felt fire in his veins as he heard Irving roar and then leap overhead. Rain and murky water soaked Chris to the bone as Irving slapped into the channel on Chris’s side, Sheva shouting behind him. “Fires a thousand to two thousand rounds per minute.” Irving spun in the water, tentacles whipping out, Chris ducking low to avoid a swipe and showing his teeth when Irving missed. He flexed his grip on the controls. “All American made, mounted anywhere you could want for a dose of death.”

He aimed the sights on Irving, the tentacles breaking through the water, waving in the air with mounds of pulsing, red infection deep within the flesh, the weak points, the targets. “Should’ve left this shit to the professionals, Ricardo.”

Chris’s trigger finger squeezed feather-light and the gun rattled to life in his palms, the intense vibrations as thousands of bullets poured from the gun with every passing second vibrating the skeleton beneath his skin. Chris let out a holler of sheer delight, the adrenaline itself making him lightheaded as his bullets smacked into Irving, the monster screaming loud in agony. “Eat lead, fucker!” Chris crowed, the endless pelting of bullets into the infected flesh giving Chris the sensation of near-immortality. The bullets tore through the weak points, the limbs severed by the destructive volley, the disgusting head submerging for air and relief. Chris smirked and turned his sights to the bulbous mass of quivering flesh atop the head of the monster, squeezing the trigger and firing relentlessly into the spot on the skull.

As Irving thrashed in the waters, Sheva ran to his side, snatching the sniper rifle from Chris’s back and training the scope on the weak points, her deadly accuracy hitting the spots perfectly after Chris had torn through most of the meat and paralyzed the limbs. Chris’s bullets severed the last of the reaching tentacles, and Irving yowled before diving back beneath the waves. “What now?” she asked, exhausted. Chris turned to her, meaning to give new orders, when the boat suddenly shuddered and halted, the engine fighting to move forward when something was holding it back. Irving burst from the surface, the three mandibles opening to reveal the man hanging on the end of the tongue like an angler fish.

“You fucking animals, always getting in my way!” Irving spat as he was held in front of them, the last of the tentacles holding onto the boat. “I’ll drown you! I’ll throw you in the engine, chop you up! I’ll turn you all into fish food!”

Chris grinned sharply and yanked the gatling to face Irving. The gun was hot in his grip and the ammo was practically endless. Irving thought he had them caught— all he’d done was leave himself wide open. As Irving ranted, listing all the ways he would bring them into the depths and slaughter them, Sheva ran for the other turret and readied herself. 

“Down, down, down, deep down with me and the sharks! I’ll eat you alive!” Irving cackled, malformed head to the sky. “When I’m done with you, ain’t nobody will find the corpses!”

“That’s what you think!” Sheva shouted as she turned her gun on Irving. “This is for Delta Team!”

“And this is for the world,” Chris whispered before squeezing the trigger for the final time, the volley tearing into Irving, the bullets that missed slapping into the sensitive, fleshy insides of the mutation. Irving had ended the fight for him, exposing the weakest point to their never-ending gunfire. Irving screamed and babbled and thrashed about on the end of the tongue like a fish fighting for its life against a line. Sheva’s shots went up, severing the tongue completely, the mutation a separate entity that suddenly threw itself up and into the water, crashing back into he waves with a last, weak roar of its death, and Irving flying through the air, smacking into the deck of the boat, dying. 

“Oh god,” Sheva choked out as she pulled away from the gatling and staggered to where Irving was writhing on the metal. Chris went with her, feeling sick as he saw the extent of the mutations. 

Irving’s entire lower body was part of the tongue, the flesh pulsing like blood was pumping in thick veins. Suckers on small tentacles framed his head like a crown, his back mutated into the tongue as well. His face and chest were all that looked remotely human and his eyes, though discolored and raving, were glassy with pain. The mutation quickly darkened like skin flashing through the stages of decomposition at unnatural speeds while Irving groaned and gasped, expiring so slowly that it was almost inhumane. Only as an afterthought, Chris held up Matilda and trained it on Irving.

“Tell us what you’re planning to do!” Chris demanded, needing the info. Irving choked on his blood and squeezed his eyes shut like he could block out the torture.

“Damn Excella!” Irving cried out with the dying breaths. “I-I guess I wasn’t worth the good stuff…”

“Excella?” Sheva repeated over Irving’s cries of agony. 

Chris didn’t answer her question, having more important things on his mind. He put Matilda away, knowing it would be foolish of Irving to try anything in his death throes. He went down on his knee beside the pulsing, infected flesh, holding out his PDA with the image of Jill on displayed. “Where is this facility?” Irving garbled out an awful sound and Chris lost his patience. “Answer me! What is the Uroboros Project?!”

Somehow, in spite of the poison and mutation, Irving laughed. “The BSAA… Wow, youse two are just on top of everything, aren’t ya?” How could this fucker still manage to be such a shithead even when he was dying in such an awful way? “The balance of the world is changing and you’re completely oblivious to it.”

“What’s changing?” Sheva asked, Chris glancing back to her. “What are you talking about?! Is it the Uroboros Project? Is that it?!”

Blood and puss spread from Irving, staining the deck, pooling beneath Chris’s boots as the man cackled wetly. “No one can stop it… Uroboros is about to change everything we’ve ever come to—“ Irving cut off with the worst, drowning cry yet, blood bubbling up from his throat. 

“Chris!” Sheva shouted as she put an arm out while Chris stood and took a step back. Irving was thrashing, like something was about to explode from inside. The mutation was rebelling completely. Irving had had no hope of controlling the parasite to begin with, just like every other person foolish enough to take the Plaga into their bodies before. 

“Chris?” Irving choked on Chris’s name and Chris’s eyes snapped to the man. Irving smiled, a twisted split of his face. “So you’re Chris.” He laughed again, wheezing and sputtering.

“What’s so funny?” Chris took steps forward again, his need for answers overcoming his self preservation. “How do you know about me?”

Irving’s sputters died into wheezes. “A-all your answers await ahead, Chris… in that cave. If you can survive long enough to get them!” He broke off into a laugh again, the echoes of insanity wracking Irving’s body uncontrollably. “Dying’s not so bad! And it’s not gonna change anything! _You’re still screwed!_ You two and that bitch of yours!”

Chris pulled out Matilda and aimed for the head. “We’re wasting time here,” he said before he put his finger to the—

Sheva’s hand laid over his, pushing Chris’s gun down. “Don’t,” she said. She stood back and watched with a heaviness in her eyes as Irving finally began to break down, the parasite consuming him from the inside out, his body bubbling away into nothing but blood and mounds of flesh beneath their feet, the man laughing the entire time. 

“Poor bastard,” Chris murmured even as he wracked his brain for who Irving had been referring to in the end. Had Irving just confirmed he would find Jill in— in the cave? That’s what Irving had said, Chris would find his answers in the cave, was Jill the bitch that was as screwed as they were? He had so many fucking questions and the only person he’d thought could have answers was dead at his feet. Still— the way Irving had talked, rambling about the change of the world, of becoming greater. It sounded so much like Wesker that Chris wanted to scream.

Sheva’s shoulders slumped with a heavy sigh. “Now what?”

Chris looked to her and felt relief to know she was still with him. For a moment, he felt a sense of peace that he— he hadn’t felt in a long time. The sense of partnership. He’d felt it before, tentatively, with Sheva, but had always associated the feeling with Leon or Jill from years ago. Now having it with Sheva, who was essentially a stranger to Chris with no previous association— it felt so much like the teams he’d had in the Air Force, the comrades he’d have given his life for. It made him feel almost like… Almost like she was his _partner_ rather than just a BSAA assigned companion to watch his back. It made him feel like he was part of something bigger than him again. 

He met Sheva’s hopeless gaze with determination and watched her straighten her shoulders, strengthen her stance and understand that they weren’t giving up. Chris gave her the smallest of smiles, reassuring her, and said, “We keep going.”

Sheva returned the smile and looked up to the controls of the boat, another level up. “What do you say we figure out how to steer this thing and check out those caves? I’ll check the boat for ammo.” She began to head for the ladders that would take her up, but stalled, looking to the waters. “Josh… Josh will be okay.” Sheva looked to him for more reassurance, unconsciously looking to Chris for leadership. Chris, for once, wasn’t daunted by the prospect. “Won’t he?”

“Captain Stone has survived this long,” Chris reminded her. “He can make it back. The worst is ahead of us.”

Sheva nodded as she climbed the ladder to the upper level. She looked back at Chris from over her shoulder. “You could try reaching Leon before we get lost in those caves.”

Chris hesitated, his hand already nearly to his ear, ready to press into the channel and barter on there even being a signal. He wanted to hear Leon’s voice. More than anything, he wanted to hear Leon and know he was alive and still going, still investigating, being the amazing, tenacious, and powerful agent Chris knew he was after going through so much. Chris wanted to check on Leon and demand a status update. He wanted verbal confirmation of Leon’s wellbeing. He wanted proof. Except—

“I’m through underestimating him,” Chris told Sheva. He let his hand drop, the smile on his face strained with the way his heart pounded in his chest, afraid he was making the wrong decision, but knowing it would mean everything to Leon if he knew Chris had trusted him to this extent. “He doesn’t need me mothering him. He’s the best. He’ll be okay.”

Sheva’s expression warmed over at Chris’s extension of faith and offered her hand to help pull him up to the next deck. “Let’s stop these psychos for good.”

Chris took her hand and met her gaze with his own resolve. “Together.”


	6. PSA

What is UP my dooders and goobers

So uh long time no sizzle. I have been away for quite some time and a lot has happened. I’ve moved across the country, gotten a cat, started a masters degree that is about as far opposite I can get from my bachelors without going into math, and i had a bit of a falling out with some of the RE fandom. And along the way I realize that hey _re5 is just such a boring game to write holy fuck._

So.

I am here to say that while OMWC will be continued, I will be nixing re5 from the timeline. I’m super sorry to anyone who enjoyed this part of the installment, I just found the gameplay so very boring to write into a story and some people were also just assholes in general about this specific installment. Now, I will be leaving this fic up (it will sadly be forever unfinished) but I am removing it from the series. 

SO.

Kinda just erase this game from your memory for this series. Chris will still have the photo, Leon will still be working big time with the making of DSO, Jill still gets rescued, Sheva is still (imo) the most badass woman in all of resident evil. Just— pretend this part never happened. Chris was a moody fuck the whole time and that’s how it be.

Thank you for understanding. I labored over this decision, but it was either I get rid of this one part, or I just never return to the series ever. And gosh dangit, I am mcfrickin tired of leaving big things unfinished. so-- damnation will be up momentarily so you can get right into it if you want, and updates will be slow cause of life and shit, but yeah! glad to do this again

bless up y’all peace and outie.


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